


Archaeology

by JazTheBard



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Arkenstone is a Silmaril, Family, Found Family, Gen, Heist, Kidnap Dads, Maedhros lives, Maglor Is A Cryptid, Presumed Dead, Quest of Erebor, Reunions, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, The Silmarillion References, for the hobbit, for the silm, mae thinks elrond is dead for a hot sec, searching for the graves of your dead loved ones, tfw you find your own grave, that's a motif in my writing apparently, which was built by your presumed dead son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 34,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23913490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazTheBard/pseuds/JazTheBard
Summary: Maedhros jumps into a fiery chasm, fully expecting to die and probably be thrown into the Void. A few thousand years later, the dwarves dig him out, miraculously alive and with the Silmaril still in his hand. Now what?In which Maedhros becomes an honorary Dwarf of Erebor and eventually joins the quest to retake the mountain.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Maedhros | Maitimo, Elrond Peredhel & Maglor | Makalaurë, Maedhros & Bilbo Baggins, Maedhros & Thorin Oakenshield, Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë
Comments: 1021
Kudos: 679





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is a big AU of The Hobbit mixed with Silm  
> (no I haven't forgotten about my other chapterfic but this demanded to be written)
> 
> For those of you who need a Silm recap:  
> Maedhros is one of the seven Sons of Fëanor, who murdered a lot of people because he had sworn a blood oath to reclaim three gems called the Silmarils. He and his brother Maglor kidnapped and raised Elrond and his twin brother Elros. Eventually, Maedhros and Maglor managed to get two of the Silmarils back, which rejected their claim because they had done so much evil, so Maglor threw his into the sea and wandered the shores singing laments and Maedhros threw himself into a fiery chasm with his.

Maedhros ran to the edge.

His hand burned.

There wouldn't be any coming back from what he had done, what he had led his brothers to. But it would never happen again.

 _At least the children didn't see any of it,_ he thought. _I will never see my sons again, but at least I will not have to face them and endure their disappointment. When they sail, though I know they do not mean to yet, they will have their parents back, or my mother will take them in. She always wanted more grandchildren. So did Father._

_Ammë, it is cruel of me, but I hope Eönwë lies to you about what happened to us in the end._

Distantly, he noticed that Maglor had run in the opposite direction, to the sea. Maybe he could convince the host of Valinor to take him back to trial. And perhaps cold water could ease the pain?

No, these burns were to the fëa as well. They had been judged, and found evil, and it was time to put an end to his wrongdoings.

Maedhros leapt.

Maedhros fell.

Maedhros sank.

The burning was everywhere, now. It was almost soothing.

And sweet unconsciousness took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "fëa" means "soul" or "spirit"  
> "ammë" means "mom" in Quenya  
> I know it's short, so I also put up the first proper chapter :)  
> Please leave a comment and/or kudos!!!


	2. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros wakes up.
> 
> I published this right after the prologue, so read both!
> 
> You may notice that Maedhros's mental state is uhhh much better than in the Reunions series's reembodiment fics. This is because being alone thinking about your crimes for 6000 years is bad for your mental health but taking a nap for 6000 years actually improves it.
> 
> Also, the Arkenstone was canonically discovered circa T.A. 2100 but that didn't work for my fic so I changed it

_Several thousand years later, in the Dwarven kingdom of Erebor:_

Maedhros slowly became aware of several things.

First, he was aware, which he definitely shouldn't be.

Second, he was physically uncomfortable, which meant he had a body.

And third, someone -- or several someones -- was talking.

It sounded like the Khuzdul he had learned from Azaghal, back when the old dwarf was still around, but a different dialect, it seemed. Comprehensible enough. What were they saying?

"There's something wonderfully sparkly here, I wonder what -- is that a hand?"

Another voice. "Looks like it, but how?"

"I'm not sure. But we ought to get that poor dead person out of the stone and lay them to rest."

So was he dead or not? This was all very confusing. But he could feel a touch to his injured left hand, still holding the Silmaril. _That's odd, it isn't burning me._

There was some activity and a great amount of clanging that made his ears ring, but the dwarves uncovered him bit by bit.

Unused to standing, he immediately fell out of the wall and crashed to the floor.

The dwarves began to clamor.

"An elf? Why is there a gigantic _elf_ in the stone of Erebor?"

"That's what you notice? Not all these strange injuries and a missing hand?"

"And what's that jewel? I've never seen anything like it."

"He's still _breathing,_ you idiots! Get a healer!"

Maedhros tried to raise himself and failed, but managed to speak. In Khuzdul he said, "I thank you. For releasing me from the stone." His voice was hoarse.

A murmur of _how does an elf speak our language_ ran through the room.

"Can you stand?" asked the nearest dwarf. "We need to get you to a healer."

"I think so." He pushed himself up onto unsteady feet. "Yes, but I doubt it'll last."

"Come on then, lad," said the dwarf, leading him presumably to the infirmary. Some other dwarves tried to support Maedhros as he stumbled after. "By the way, what's that jewel you're clutching so tight there? Someone could hold it for you if you want,” He must have looked panicked. “No one will steal it," they said.

This was tricky. Maedhros didn't actually want to _keep_ holding the Silmaril, but he wasn't sure what would happen if he gave it up, as much as he knew these dwarves would love to examine it. Since he did have it right now, the Oath was most likely fulfilled. If he willingly gave it to another or threw it away, nothing would happen. Probably. Actually _naming_ it as a Silmaril, however, would only cause problems.

Well, if he freaked out and demanded it back, they'd probably give it to him, citing some sort of strange elf magic.

"It was my father's," he said. The dwarves nodded in understanding. "But I do not want it. Were it not cursed, I should throw it away."

They reached the infirmary. "Here we are," said the dwarf who had taken charge, shooing Maedhros to a pair of beds being laid end-to-end by other dwarves, just as a healer came in.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded the healer, a tough-looking dwarrowdam.

"He was buried in the rock and holding a strange gem, and he's injured."

"There was a rockslide?" she asked, paling slightly. Rockslides were a great disaster to befall a mountain kingdom.

"No, I mean inside the stone. We had to mine him out."

"But how -- you know what, it doesn't matter." She turned and addressed Maedhros. "May I take a look at your wounds?"

He nodded. The onlooker dwarves cleared out at a single glare from the healer as she began checking him over. Maedhros zoned out, all too used to being under the scrutiny of healers.

"Not too bad," she muttered, "though burned all over." She called over her shoulder, "Get me some disinfectant, bandages, and burn ointment, and hurry up!" An assistant scurried to do her bidding.

"I'll need to see your hands, now."

He snapped back to attention.

"Certainly. Is there anywhere I can put this in the meantime?" He asked, gesturing with his left hand still holding the Silmaril.

"Just over on that table for now," she said.

Maedhros tentatively put it down. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to happen, but it simply went _clunk_ as it touched the table. He blinked.

He offered his hand to the healer and winced when he saw the burn.

She inhaled through her teeth. "Not the worst I've ever seen, but it's a close thing. Was that gem hot when you were holding it?" She began treating it.

"...I mean, I suppose so."

"How did you end up inside the stone of Erebor?"

Ah, so this place was called Erebor. Lonely Mountain. Well, nobody had recognized him yet despite some very obvious hints, such as holding a Silmaril, but he wouldn’t acknowledge his or the jewel’s identity unless someone brought it up. "The land was breaking under me; I fell into a great chasm of fire. The last thing I remember before waking here was being consumed by lava." Nobody needed to know that it was on purpose.

"And when did that happen? I'm done with this hand, let me see your right side."

Maedhros obediently removed the covering on his stump with clumsy, bandaged fingers. "Towards the end of the First Age of the Sun. Or I assume so; people said a new Age was about to start but they hadn't declared it yet."

"Hmm. I'd be surprised you're still alive if you weren't an elf. It's the year 2747 of the Third Age now. Explains why your Khuzdul's so ancient." She bandaged the burns on his right arm. "You've taken good care of your stump, by the way. The amputation looks like it was slapdash, but it healed well."

"How long was the Second Age, then?"

"Oh, three and a half thousand years or so. Let me put something on those cuts of yours while the assistants go get food; you haven't eaten in millennia. That's far too long, even for an elf. Have you a name?"

He hesitated. "Maedhros," he said. She didn't react to the name. "At your service."

The healer nodded in approval at hearing the traditional greeting. "Ragna, daughter of Rúna, at yours and your family's."

There wasn't exactly a way to bow properly in this position, but Maedhros tried anyway. It didn't work.

Ragna finished treating his cuts. "That looks like most of the damage. You'll heal." The assistants came in with trays of something that smelled delicious. "And here's some food! You shouldn't be using your hand yet, so the assistants will feed you. Is there anything else you'll need?"

"Thank you. I can't even begin to describe my gratitude for your hospitality and care. But, if it isn't too much trouble..." He didn't want to impose, but he had to know. "Is there anyone who might know what happened to my family, or my people? I'm not familiar with the geography, either." It felt strange to be so vulnerable.

Ragna smiled. "We'll get you a historian and some maps after you eat and get some sleep. One last thing, though, what do you want to do with that gem of yours?"

"... I'll deal with it later. Leave it there for now."

The healer nodded, drew a curtain around him, and went about her duties. Maedhros ate.

 _How am I alive?_ he wondered. And then, _I wonder if any of my family is still around. Once I know who the High King is -- hopefully nothing happened to Gil-Galad, but it might have -- I'll go from there._

He finished eating and slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment and/or kudos if you liked it!!! validation keeps me writing lol


	3. History Lessons and Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros gets caught up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introducing some ~dwarf ocs~ who are only here for this chapter  
> i got the names from dwarrowscholar
> 
> Silm recap notes for this chapter: Himring was Maedhros's old fortress, the whole continent it was on sank after the defeat of the dark lord Morgoth.
> 
> Elros is Elrond's brother, who chose to be a human like Arwen and became a king. Both of them were raised by Maglor canonically, and for this story they consider Maglor and Maedhros their dads.
> 
> Oropher (Thranduil's dad) was from Doriath, which Maedhros and his brothers attacked and killed, like, a ton of people there
> 
> Maedhros is worried about the Silmaril because the Oath he swore has more than once forced him to kill people for it
> 
> The High King is a hereditary position belonging to Maedhros's family. After the death of Gil-Galad, Elrond was next in line (by his birth parents, or out of the succession altogether by his foster parents), or Galadriel, but neither of them took the kingship.
> 
> For the purposes of the story, I've decided that E&E, as the adopted children of the eldest son of Fëanor, became heads of house when Maedhros disappeared, even though Celebrimbor (Maedhros's nephew, made the rings of power) was older
> 
> The name "Sauron" comes from "Thauron" or "þauron," and Maedhros's distinctive accent in Quenya uses "þ" in some situations where others would use "s"
> 
> if there are any other silm things that i missed, let me know! i want this to be accessible for lotr/hobbit readers

When Maedhros woke up, it was to a bowl of oatmeal (and a healer's assistant) at his bedside, and the Silmaril just where he had left it.

Ragna came in as he finished eating breakfast with the assistant's help. "Oh, good, you're awake. I've managed to find you someone who knows a little elven history, and after that the King Under the Mountain, King Thrór, wants to talk to you. Be on your best behavior."

"Of course, Healer Ragna. Thank you."

She nodded briskly and fetched another dwarf, this one bespectacled and young, who introduced themself as "Hildur, child of Unnur, at your service."

"Maedhros, at yours and your family's."

"Healer Ragna told me you need updating on the events of the Second and Third Ages?"

"If it isn't too much trouble. Do you happen to know who the High King of the Noldor is at present? They would be my liege, whoever they are." And it would give him a clue of who he could go to and who to avoid.

"It's no trouble at all. To answer your question, there has been no High King since the death of Gil-Galad, at the end of the Second Age."

No High King after Erenion? The rest of his family must have died or sailed, then. Hopefully sailed. "How did he die?"

"In battle against Sauron. He went to war with a great alliance of the Free Folk and all his people, which succeeded rather well. There was some important elf-lord as his herald, too, I think his name was Elrond."

Maedhros's heart sank. Elrond had been killed by the Shadow as well. "I have heard the name of Elrond before," he said carefully. He didn't want to seem too curious, not too much more than any subject would be about their monarch. Definitely not like a father receiving news of his son’s death, that’d invite questions. "Did he not have a brother, named Elros? What became of him?"

Hildur hummed, thinking. "I know of no elves by that name, though there was a king of Men, long ago, called Elros Tar-Minyatur."

Had Elros made the choice of Lúthien, his foremother? It wasn't outside the realm of possibility, as no one really knew how half-elves worked, and was certainly consistent with his character.

Both of his sons were long dead, then. He had hoped -- oh, it didn't matter now what he had hoped for them. They had been successful enough, it seemed; he had to believe they'd been happy, too, or the grief would overwhelm him. He shouldn't have outlived his children.

Perhaps they had mortal descendants? Any immortal children of theirs would have inherited the crown.

Quick, act normal. "I see. It's strange to think of those two in such a way; they were children when last I saw them. But you mentioned Sauron?" He carefully masked the þ threatening to peek through at the evil name.

"Yes, indeed. In order to fully explain the situation, might I go back a while?" said Hildur.

"Of course."

Ragna broke in. "Let me look at those injuries while you get caught up. It's awfully depressing to hear you speak of all those things, Hildur, I must say. Were it not so important to fill our guest in on what he's missed, I should not permit something so likely to harm his mental state."

That was kind, but he had just heard about his sons' deaths. And his mental state was already in shambles, in any case; he had thrown himself into lava.

Hildur rolled their eyes and continued. "There was in the Second Age an elf by the name of Celebrimbor, who was a good friend to dwarves. He was an incredible smith; he even designed one of the gates of Dwarrowdelf with the great craftsman Narvi." Maedhros had heard of Hadhodrond before, but that mattered little in the face of news about his nephew.

"Later, the Dark Lord Sauron came to Celebrimbor's city, Ost-in-Edhil, in a fair disguise, and tricked him into creating Rings of Power. Celebrimbor intended the rings as helpful gifts, but Sauron used them to control their wearers. He had secretly made his own ring that could overpower the others, though it didn't work too well on dwarves," they said with a slight grin. "But he never managed to find the rings that Celebrimbor had made for the elves, so he killed him." Maedhros's face must have been a picture of misery, for Hildur asked, "I'm sorry to bring you such news. Did you know him?"

Maedhros croaked out, "A bit. I knew his father." His nephew dead, too, at the hands of his torturer, the killer of one of his sons? He must be, then, the only descendant of Finwë left on these shores.

And what had happened to his people? Elros and Elrond became the heads of the House of Fëanor upon his disappearance. If Celebrimbor had lived, the remnants would have gone to him after the twins' deaths, though he had renounced the house; he would not have denied people in need. Their people had probably sailed, or scattered into other Houses for safety.

Hildur ducked their head in sympathy. "I am sorry."

Ragna patted him on the shoulder.

"No, it is -- it is simply shock at such tidings. Please continue."

"If you're sure. Well, Sauron was driven out, and eventually he came to the island kingdom of Númenor, which that King Elros that I mentioned had founded many generations before. Somehow it ended with the island sinking, and the few survivors starting kingdoms here in Middle-Earth. The realm of Gondor still exists, down south of here."

Apparently when things got too evil, they had to sink. Good to know.

But here was a glimmer of purpose: he could watch over and protect Elros's line, and any mortal descendants Elrond might have. It wouldn't make up for his failure to keep Elrond safe, but they were still his family, and it was therefore the least he could do.

"Then, like I said, Gil-Galad formed an alliance to take down Sauron. There were heavy losses, but it worked well enough; the bastard's only recently become able to stir up any trouble at all. Something terrible happened in the Dwarrowdelf, though we're not sure what. It's since been abandoned. You're currently in the kingdom of Erebor, ruled by King Thrór."

Maedhros nodded. "Thank you for telling me all this. Could you point out where we are on a map, perhaps? I admit I am unfamiliar with the geography."

Hildur nodded and pulled a map from their belt, spreading it out before him. He spotted the Ered Luin and a part of Ossiriand to the west, and just off the coast--

"What is that island?" he asked despite himself.

"The Isle of Himling, it's called. There's an old, crumbling fortress on it. Why?"

"I have been there. Though it was called Himring then, and it was not an island."

"Really? That's incredible. Here's where we are," they said, tapping a mountain towards the northeast of the map. "Here are the other places I mentioned." They pointed out Eregion and Khazad-Dûm, as well as Lindon, where Gil-Galad had ruled, the fading kingdom of Gondor, and Sauron's land, Mordor.

He'd probably end up there at some point. He planned to go back to his old occupation of fighting dark lords as soon as he figured out how best to do so. "What's this forest here?"

"Mirkwood, ruled by King Thranduil, son of Oropher."

Well, he definitely couldn't go there. "And this?"

"An elven realm, headed by a powerful sorceress, they say. It's called Lothlórien." Hildur's tongue stumbles over the elvish name. "Over here, past the Misty Mountains, is Rivendell. It's difficult to get to if you don't know the way, but the elves there welcome all kinds of people. I'm sure you could find a place among them."

 _I could, though it would likely be in a prison cell or a grave._ He decided not to voice that thought. "Thank you, but at present I am not ready to return among others of the Firstborn. I..." He trailed off. Might as well be honest about this part, even if intentionally vague. "I recently lost my sons. Well, recently in my view; though it has been long in years I have had little time to grieve. I doubt I could bear seeing their kin again so soon."

Ragna and Hildur wore matching expressions of sympathy. Ragna spoke, "I'm sorry, lad. Children are a terrible loss to bear."

Maedhros smiled weakly. When had he started crying? "Thank you." He wiped his eyes. He hadn't been there to protect his sons, but they were safe from all harm now, at least. Surely Elrond would be reembodied, if he hadn't been already, and return to the family he had in Aman. Maybe, in time, he'd forgive his foster fathers for not being there for him and Elros.

Perhaps a city somewhere had a memorial or grave for them. Perhaps there was a statue of King Elros, if he was so well-known in history, and an ancestor of the royals of Gondor. It would be the closest he could ever get to seeing them again. An elf would know where they were buried -- no, they'd imprison him at best, and he'd be lucky if they let him pay his respects first.

He couldn't fight the Enemy from a prison cell. Or protect his children's descendants, for that matter.

Maedhros suddenly remembered something. "Healer Ragna, didn't you say someone wanted to speak to me?"

"I did indeed," she said, standing and brushing herself off. "Clear out, Hildur, you can come back later. And both of you behave." She swept out as Hildur gathered their things.

"Best wishes for your recovery!" called Hildur as they left.

A moment later, Ragna returned with a dwarf in a crown and Durin-blue robes.

"Your majesty, this is my patient, Maedhros. Maedhros, this is the King Under the Mountain, his majesty Thrór."

Maedhros gave another awkward sitting-in-bed bow. "At your service, your majesty."

Thrór returned the gesture. “So, how exactly did you come to be in the stone of Erebor with that gem clutched in your hand?”

Right to the point. Good. Maedhros shrugged. “I was holding it just before I fell into a great chasm of lava, thousands of years ago. I don’t know how I got here, or lived, for that matter.”

Thrór gave him a scrutinizing look, but Maedhros truly didn’t know how any of it had happened. Aside from the falling into lava, of course.

“And what are you planning to do with the jewel?”

He definitely didn't want to _keep_ the Silmaril, but he had to keep from reawakening the Oath -- which, now that he thought about it, didn't actually say anything about dwarves -- in case it still had a hold on him. And he’d been able to let go of it just fine yesterday.

"I give it freely to the King Under the Mountain as a gift of goodwill from guest to host,” he said carefully. “May it bring you better fortune than it brought me."

He picked up the Silmaril -- it didn’t burn! -- and placed it in Thrór’s hand. He let go, apprehensive, but felt no driving force to take it back. Relief flooded him.

"I thank you, Maedhros. Be welcome in Erebor, honored guest,” said Thrór formally. Slipping into a more colloquial Khuzdul, he said, “As it happens, it was my grandson Thorin's first birthday yesterday. I'd say your coming is a good omen for him. Now, why don’t I go see about getting you fitted for a prosthetic hand? To ease the strain while your left recovers.”

This form of the language was less similar to that of the First Age, so Maedhros took a moment to mentally decipher it, but he wasn’t a linguist for nothing. In an approximation of the same style, he said, “That would be greatly appreciated. I would prefer to keep my hand in working order, it’s all I have left.” He smiled at the pun.

The King Under the Mountain laughed. “Well said! I must take my leave of you now, but I hope you enjoy your stay.” He bowed and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the dramatic irony train is leaving the station! elrond is literally fine akhfkdsghksl
> 
> please leave a comment and/or kudos, they brighten my day!


	4. At a Minute or Two Till Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And the dragon will come when he hears the drum, at a minute or two till two today, at a minute or two till two."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is just "nobody should give me detailed maps of fantasy worlds, ever"
> 
> silm recap: back in the first age there was a battle called the Dagor Bragollach, during which dragons killed everybody and maglor's lands got hit badly
> 
> two of maedhros's cousins had their respective Hidden Cave City and Hidden Mountain City destroyed by dragons
> 
> the Havens mentioned here are the Havens of Sirion, which the remaining sons of feanor attacked for a silmaril in the Third Kinslaying, which ended in the kidnapdoption of elrond and elros
> 
> losing three generations of rulers in a row happened to maedhros's people, who lost his grandfather, his father and himself in quick succession, and it was a Disaster
> 
> there was a place called Minas Tirith in the first age, but sauron took it over and filled it with werewolves, and killed maedhros's cousin finrod there

Maedhros grew comfortable in Erebor.

He hadn’t exactly started out with the intention to stay there, but the dwarves were friendly and welcoming, and it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go, what with his family dead and his name infamous.

He did want to go out and search for his sons’ tombs, to say a final farewell to the children he had failed, but had not the least idea where to start. At least, not one that didn’t involve asking an elf some very specific and suspicious questions.

But in the mountain, he was safe. Elves of the Greenwood visited from time to time, including King Thranduil, but Maedhros always had enough warning to get out of sight. The dwarves he was friends with taught him Westron, the common tongue of these lands, and explained to him the complex political relationships of Erebor, Dale, Esgaroth, and Mirkwood. He could almost feel at home here, safe behind stone.

And the prosthetic they had made for him was amazing.

It wasn’t just like having a hand again; no craft could quite replicate living muscle and bone, but it was more than enough to spare his left hand some stress as it healed. And heal it did, slowly but surely, though he hadn’t expected it to (The healers told him the burn, though deep, should have scarred over in much less than the fifteen years it had taken. But such was the price of dealing with magical objects, they sniffed, implying that he was a fool for messing about with, and then dying while holding, a work of unknown enchantment. To be fair, they were right.).

Through a great deal of craft-magic and attunement, he could even move the prosthetic somewhat at will. Not well, and he couldn’t always wear it for long, but enough. With a glove over it, he could appear to have two rather stiff, injured hands, rather than one and a stump, which would be helpful if he ever wanted to go among elves without being immediately recognized.

It even enabled Maedhros to work with his hands once more, as he hadn’t since he had been captured long ago. He had never thought to be able to again, and cried tears of joy the first time he managed to bake something that required two hands by himself (the crying was definitely unrelated to the fact that it tasted exactly like when he had taught the children to make it).

After a while, the dwarves slowly became aware, on some level, of who he was, history and all. He tried not to go into any specifics, but his identity as Maedhros Fëanorion was something of an open secret within the Lonely Mountain.

Thrór set the Silmaril, which he named the Arkenstone, into the top of his throne, where all visitors could see its beauty. This had the added benefit of making King Thranduil, who had never seen a Silmaril before but had lived long enough to mistrust magical glowing jewels on instinct, extremely uncomfortable. The Kingdom Under the Mountain knew peace and prosperity.

And then the dragon came.

* * *

Maedhros, on the walls of Erebor, felt the approach of the dragon before he saw it. A sizzle in the air, a puff of warm wind caused by wingbeats, hair standing on end. No one had known what it meant before the Bragollach, but no one would ever forget it after.

He started running, warning everyone he came across. "There's a dragon coming, and it means to attack. Tell everyone and _get out of the mountain_." He lost track of how many times he said it, increasing in volume, as he searched for Thrór.

He found the King in the throne room. "Your majesty!" Thrór looked up. "There's a dragon on the way, and it means to attack the mountain. We have to evacuate!"

Thrór stood and nodded. He pitched his voice to carry and said, "People of Erebor! Gather your families and leave the mountain! Warriors prepare to defend the escape!"

Maedhros rushed to arm himself. He'd led dragon evacuations before. Thank goodness for experience.

 _Was this what it was like for those hidden cities of my kin, put to ruin by the wyrms?_ he thought. _Worse still, was this what it was like for the people of the Havens they saw our banner?_

If they couldn't get out before the dragon got to the mountain, it could easily kill them all at the exit, but if they could run far enough away, it would go for the mountain instead of the people fleeing. This dragon was at play, not at war; it wanted treasure rather than death.

Maedhros led the dwarves outside into Dale, stopping to warn the Dalefolk of the coming danger and cover the retreat if necessary. The dragon was coming out of the north, they all had a chance to survive if they fled by the river.

By the time the dragon actually landed on the mountain and set Dale aflame, after dramatically circling around a bit to heighten the tension for the very few people who stayed behind, every civilian of Dale and Erebor had made it to the Long Lake.

He heard a voice in the distance singing. It sounded like the song Maglor wrote after the Dagor Bragollach, when dragons had burned everything he had tried to protect. Of all his brother's songs, Maedhros wouldn't have expected this one to survive so long after his death (or voyage to face trial in Aman, he wasn't sure which), but despite the despair it expressed, it brought him comfort. He sang along a bit, but the lyrics were different than he remembered.

Maedhros intended to return and fight the dragon -- Smaug was his name, from what he kept yelling between bursts of flame -- but the arrival of fleeing warriors, Man and dwarf both, stopped him.

"What happened?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"We lost Lord Girion," said one of the Dalefolk, face covered in soot.

"The dragon killed almost everyone," said the least injured of the dwarves. "It's gone inside the mountain, and we can't find the King or any of the royal family."

Maedhros's blood ran cold. Losing all of them, king, son, and grandson, and at a time like this… he'd seen what that could do to a kingdom. At least _he'd_ had fully grown brothers who could take over ruling, and he had come back, too.

The voice on the wind had sung of the death of kings.

"Did anyone else escape?"

The Dalish fighter shrugged. "I think so, maybe a few."

True enough, a few more scattered dwarves and Men, and one visiting elf that Maedhros hid from, stumbled to the edge of the Long Lake where the refugees sat.

To everyone's surprise, some of those dwarves turned out to be King Thrór, holding Thorin and Frerin’s hands, and Thráin with little Dís in his arms.

Shouts of joy welcomed the rulers, who had apparently found a secret exit, and soon enough a council of the most prominent dwarves and Men was called.

Maedhros, who was not part of the council, took out a map and tried to puzzle out where he should go next. If the dwarves needed him, he would go with. He’d grown to make friends among them and a few of the local Men, and would be loath to leave them. But he should have a plan, just in case.

The main issue was that if he tried to go anywhere but southeast, he would have to pass through or very near to an elven realm. Down the River Running first, and then west on the Old Forest Road if he thought he could take it safely. He could go through the southern forests, as the elves of Mirkwood tended to avoid the area, but it was much more dangerous. South along the Anduin next, whichever way he got there, but that would take him by Lothlórien. If he made it past all the elves, he could maybe, just maybe, get to Gondor and start searching for a tomb or memorial to Elros. Gondor was founded by his descendants, after all.

True, it would be dangerous in more ways than he could count. But the journey would be worth it if he managed to find even a hint towards his children’s resting places. And he could go find the missing King of Gondor and protect him, or watch over the Stewards, who he'd gathered were also of Elros's line.

As it turned out, the dwarves were happy to have him come with them. He could journey to Gondor another time; he’d already marked Minas Tirith (and didn’t _that_ name bring up unwelcome memories) as a good place to start his search.

“We’re going to the Misty Mountains,” announced Thrór after the council. This was met with grumbles from dwarves who were, understandably, unhappy about passing through Mirkwood. “The dragon, Smaug it calls itself, will surely attack wherever we settle if we’re any closer. We cannot in good conscience go to our kin in the Iron Hills and lead the wyrm right to them. Instead, we go west. Perhaps we may even remake Khazad-Dûm into its former glory.”

With that rationale, the dwarves were much more enthusiastic. Maedhros was invited to go with them, and he gladly accepted.

The great caravan of people passed west through Mirkwood and south along the mountains, until they found a place to settle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> re: the prosthetic: kind of like proto-automail from fma  
> in the first age he had 1 working hand, but it got messed up due to Burning Silmaril Injury  
> so now he has 2 semi-functional hands
> 
> re: the Oath: for the purposes of this fic, it's fulfilled  
> but if it wasn't  
> -oath says he has to kill anyone who knowingly keeps silmarils from rightful owner  
> -when it's first sworn, that's feanor's family  
> -but mae gave that one silmaril away to thror  
> -now the rightful owner is thror and his heirs  
> -mae is oathbound to kill /smaug/ for keeping it away from them
> 
> please leave a comment and/or kudos, they brighten my day immeasurably!


	5. Maglor Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has Maglor been up to this whole time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter to check in with Sad Beach Cryptid! spoiler alert, he's doing Bad
> 
> silm recap: maglor is maedhros's brother, the second son of feanor, and another of elros and elrond's foster dads
> 
> he also reclaimed a silmaril, which burned him, so he threw it in the sea and wandered the beaches lamenting
> 
> he's been banned from valinor and can't return to his mom who lives there, his nephew celebrimbor is dead, and elros's descendants in gondor and what's left of arnor are not doing fantastic (due to sauron)
> 
> he lost a lot to dragons and stuff during the Dagor Bragollach, and lost his father, at least one brother, and several of his kings to fire, so he is understandably Not A Fan
> 
> thingol was an elf (one of elrond's ancestors) who had a silmaril at one point (long story) and got murdered over it, which tbh was partly his own fault, but that led to a war between elves and dwarves

Maglor wandered.

It was all he had done since the end of the First Age, and he saw no reason to stop now. His father was dead, his brothers were dead, his nephew was dead, one of his foster sons was dead and his legacy dying, he could not return to his mother, his last remaining cousin would not welcome him, most elves would kill or imprison him if they knew who he was, and his living foster son would be happiest if he stayed away.

So, wandering.

It was a lonely existence. Maglor helped people where he could, leading to local legends of friendly ghosts and healing music all across the land. Hopefully none were taken seriously enough to be fully investigated; he could hide from most searchers easily enough.

But if someone figured out it was him, and Elrond came to bring him to face trial for his crimes... he wasn't sure he could bring himself to run.

Recently, Maglor had heard rumors of a glowing gem discovered in Erebor. It was probably nothing, really, just a particularly good enchantment or the capturing of moonlight, but what if it wasn't?

Over the years, he'd chased down gossip more than once, to be absolutely sure the Silmarils were gone. To be sure he would never have to hurt anyone again, to be sure no more wars would be fought for them. To his relief, they had always proved false.

But these rumors seemed different. They were specific in a way he didn't like, and all too accurate to how he remembered the gems.

If Maedhros's Silmaril had truly been found, that was probably okay. At least with regard to the Oath, which Maglor hadn't felt since he had thrown his stone into the sea. Not only did the wording leave out dwarves, but he was fairly certain it had been fulfilled, and a few other technicalities protected him.

Two of the Silmarils had been reclaimed, and the third was held by Eärendil, a kinsman, which made him exempt by the terms of the Oath. And technically, Maedhros's jewel would count as abandoned property, so if someone found it, that was fine.

But even if Maglor wasn't required to go after it, other people were perfectly willing to start wars over it, as he had seen with Thingol. The least he could do, if this "Arkenstone" was in truth a Silmaril, was try to mitigate the inevitable damage.

So he wandered, but now in the vague direction of Erebor.

He was walking north along the River Running, just within sight of Laketown, when he felt the telltale signs of an approaching dragon. And sure enough, there in the distance, a fire-drake swooped down out of the north and landed on the Lonely Mountain, burning everything for miles.

It was a scene far too familiar. There was no point in going any further if he couldn't get into the mountain, and he probably couldn't handle it emotionally anyhow.

So Maglor sang. Sang of dragonfire, sang of scorched earth, sang of smoke and desolation, sang of the loss of home and of kingdom and of safety and of king and  _ of brothers and of father to the flame-- _

He cut off. He hadn't meant to bring all that into it. He would go back to the shore, he thought, and stay near there a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment and/or kudos!
> 
> also if there's any silm stuff that needs explanation, please let me know! i want to keep this as accessible for Hobbit readers as i can given that main character is maedhros


	6. Of Celebrimbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros says goodbye to his nephew and goes on a researching spree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Tis I, back with another chapter!
> 
> Silm recap:  
> -celebrimbor (quenya name tyelperinquar) was the son of maedhros's brother curufin, and renounced the family bc they did a bunch of messed up stuff  
> -but he put their emblem on the doors of durin so *eyes emoji*  
> -also dead elves can come back to life in valinor under some circumstances, and the Second Singing is when the world will be destroyed and remade  
> -the whole gondor bit with the stars is a canon numenor thing but in the lotr movies those things are EVERYWHERE like of course denethor set himself on fire just like fëanor

It was twenty years later, twenty years of building a city, twenty years of scraping out a living from the unfriendly stone, twenty years of being grateful for every day of survival, when Thrór was killed. And from that day forward, life once again consisted almost entirely of fighting orcs.

Just like old times.

Thráin now wore his father's Ring of Power, which had in it the power of Celebrimbor and Sauron both. Maedhros felt sick to look upon it.

There were reinforcements, thank goodness, from other clans of dwarves, and the orcs' cultural memory sent them fleeing from Maedhros's red hair. The last battle in the War of the Dwarves and Orcs was fought at Azanulbizar, where young Prince Frerin fell alongside most of the dwarves who fought that day. The victory was hollow, and the survivors few.

"We make for the Blue Mountains," said King Thráin. "We have driven the orcs from Khazad-Dûm, and may now pass through it, but it is no place to stay."

So they gathered what they still had left and walked west through Moria, as quickly as they could, endeavoring to spend as little time as possible within.

As soon as the last of the surviving dwarves came through the door at the end of the mines, Maedhros helped them shut the gates against any orcs that might have followed.

In the silence, Thráin declared a rest for everyone to recover their breath and tend to the wounded. They had a modicum of safety here.

Maedhros took a closer look at the gate, murmuring the words aloud as he read. "I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs..." This must be the famed West-Gate, then; the last surviving piece of his nephew's untainted work.

Such thoughts filled him with grief, but the doors' designs were unquestionably beautiful. The elegant tengwar, the flowing lines of the trees, a crown and a hammer-and-anvil for Durin, and --

\-- a rayed eight-pointed star. Sigil of the House of Fëanor.

But Celebrimbor had renounced the family years ago, hadn't he? It hadn't done him much good in the end, but he'd been right to do it. Why place the sign of a family he'd repudiated on a piece of his greatest work?

Perhaps he had returned when Elrond and Elros had been the heads of the House. Those two had certainly never done anything for Celebrimbor to have to distance himself from. Yes, that made sense.

Maedhros's heart ached. Hopefully this meant Celebrimbor had helped and cared for the twins in the absence of all their parents. He and Maglor had taught Elros and Elrond all they could, but that didn't mean the children were ready to lead a House at the age they'd been left with one.

He didn't want to believe his sons had been alone before they died.

He shook his head. Not right now. When he'd gotten his friends to safety, then he could start trying to find out what Elrond and Elros had done with their lives and where their tombs lay. And search for their descendants, the closest thing he had to family.

He could regret his failings later.

* * *

The caravan of dwarves (and one elf) journeyed through Eregion. One day, they came upon the ruin of Ost-in-Edhil.

And a great, noticeably un-ruined sepulcher raised to Celebrimbor. "Ringmaker," "Smith," "Dwarf-Friend," it said in runes around the sides, "Leader of the Jewelsmiths of Eregion." An eight-pointed star appeared front and center, daring viewers to comment on it.

Maedhros went to it when they stopped for the night.

"I'm sorry, Celebrimbor," he murmured to the stone. Celebrimbor had left behind his Quenya name when he left the family; it didn't even appear on the monument. "For everything that led you to disown us and made people mistrust you. For putting so much responsibility on you when all you wanted was to make art and help people. For leaving you and your young cousins to deal with everything alone, for not being there for you, for not being able to save you from Þauron. I -- I don't know what else I can say. Except that I love you, and I'm proud of you. Always. I hope..." he took a shuddering breath as tears began to roll down his cheeks. "I hope you've been reembodied by now. Our deeds shouldn't reflect badly on you, who didn't do anything wrong. I hope you're safely home with your grandmother. I hope Elrond has been reborn, too, and you're both healing. You deserve to be uncomplicatedly, unreservedly happy."

He leaned to touch his forehead lightly to the tomb. "Goodbye, Celebrimbor, my beloved nephew. May we meet again on better terms in the Second Singing."

Maedhros sat in vigil for the rest of the night. When the sun rose, he bowed to the monument and set off to rejoin the dwarves, feeling lighter.

* * *

After a long and treacherous journey, the people of Erebor reached the Blue Mountains and set about creating a new home. Maedhros helped where he could, though he was no hewer of caves.

The life they built in the Ered Luin was poorer than what they'd had before; quite a few of the noble dwarrow had a difficult time adjusting. But it was a life. They were alive, and likely to stay that way. It was enough.

Living there had the added benefit of not having to cross multiple elven kingdoms to visit Gondor.

In much the same way they knew his identity, the dwarves knew his wish to search out his sons' graves for a final goodbye. They understood the desire, and helped him plan. When he felt ready, he embarked.

* * *

The first and most shocking thing Maedhros noticed about Minas Tirith was the ubiquity of eight-pointed stars.

He'd been surprised enough by one each on the Doors of Durin and Celebrimbor's monument, but this was absurd. None of them had the distinctive rays of the Fëanorian star, and had different proportions, but why would someone design their city this way?

He asked a tour guide, who told him that it was a Númenórean star. "Pretty much everything here is modeled after Númenor," she said. "I'm sure the scholars in the Library can tell you more about the history."

He thanked her and went to the library, where they told him much the same thing, but also showed him a book about the kings of Númenor. He settled in to read it.

Apparently he had been completely right about Elros making the choice of Lúthien. According to this book, he led his people to the island they were given and became the founding king of Númenor.

Also, if the book was to be believed, the eight-pointed stars were a symbol Elros had chosen. Yes, Elros hadn't been head of the house for long before starting his own kingdom, but he paid homage to his family nonetheless.

Maedhros smiled. His heart felt warm. Maybe he hadn't failed as a parent quite as badly as he'd thought.

The book read, "Tar-Minyatur was widely speculated to be immune to curses and most forms of ill luck, as evidenced by his improbable survival up to and through the War of Wrath, as well as his avoidance of a violent death despite being a king, a marked departure from the pattern of his family. In addition, his adoption of the eight-pointed star (a symbol seen as cursed and unlucky by elves), if it can be blamed at all, only started its 'curse' over a thousand years after his death."

Now that he thought about it, that seemed realistic. Being a king was a pretty sure way of getting yourself killed, historically, but Elros had reigned for hundreds of years of peace and prosperity and died of old age, despite temporarily being head of an accursed House and subsequently adopting its heraldry.

After finishing the book, he spoke to an elderly scholar.

"I was wondering if there's some sort of tomb or memorial to Elros Tar-Minyatur around? Since he's the ancestor of Gondor's founders."

The scholar shook their head. "He was buried on Númenor, and while it wouldn't be all that strange to build him a new grave on the mainland for memorial purposes, I don't know of any around here. I could point you in the direction of a statue, if you like, but you'd have better luck for a monument asking elves."

Maedhros politely declined.

On the return trip to the Ered Luin, he contemplated walking to the nearest elven settlement and directly asking where Elrond was buried, but dismissed the idea as foolish. It wouldn't work and he wasn't that desperate, not yet.

He'd found out that Elros had been happy and successful, and had made his emblem a star like that of his foster fathers. He had that knowledge of having been loved, if nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elros and Elrond are immune to curses, thank u fur coming to my ted talk
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment and/or kudos :)


	7. Ríros Orchalion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros meets a lookalike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today i am introducing my new dnd character for an Adventures in Middle Earth campaign as a minor OC!  
> his name is Ríros, and his entire character is "looks exactly like mae but knows 0 history"  
> also he's a himbo
> 
> this chapter is [illustrated by the incredible adanedhel](https://adanedhel.tumblr.com/post/616703353952600064/maedhros-and-an-oc-that-i-drew-for-someone-on) and you should def check out his work on ao3 and tumblr!  
> anyway this chapter is for u adanedhel
> 
> Silm notes:  
> -I really like the idea of red hair being seen as cursed due to maedhros, amras, and amrod, and I also like the idea of some Silvan elves being redheads (like Tauriel in the movies)  
> -i mean the Implications of that!  
> -Círdan makes the boats that take elves to Valinor and he is VERY old and a nice dude  
> -galadriel is maedhros's cousin and does not like him

One day, less than two decades after first coming to the Ered Luin, he accompanied a trade caravan of dwarves, including Crown Prince Thorin (who had proved himself a caring and responsible leader) to Círdan's city of Mithlond.

Maedhros knew he was unrecognizable: gloves on both his real and prosthetic hands, hair dyed a temporary black, and a good number of his scars hidden by makeup. A disguise he had perfected for this exact situation.

And yet, he feared walking into the Gray Havens.

What if someone figured it out? What if he spoke of something he should not know, or one of his companions slipped and used his real name? Even Círdan wouldn't let him just _leave_ after what he had done.

_But this is the best chance I have at finding out where my sons are buried. I cannot pass that up. I owe them this._

To his relief, no one seemed at all suspicious of a tall, cloaked elf in the company of a group of dwarves. Or perhaps they all had better things to worry about.

Regardless of reason, the group managed to make their way to the center of town and set up what they needed for trade without being hindered. Once Maedhros was sure his companions could spare him, he promised Thorin to be careful and set off in search of someone who could help him.

Luckily, it was barely a few minutes before a tall young elf, hair hidden under a brightly-patterned hat, approached him.

"I haven't seen you around here before, well met!" said the elf cheerfully. "I'm Ríros, son of Orchal. I'm from the Greenwood. Where are you from?"

Ríros -- "crown of red hair." The hat suddenly made sense. Such hair colors weren't quite so rare among Silvan elves, he had heard, but he was the _reason_ such things were hidden outside the depths of the forests.

"Adarngail, son of Caror. I live in the Ered Luin." He rather liked this false name -- "father of stars," a nod to his sons' names, and "Caror," "maker of things," was an accurate name for both his parents.

Ríros beamed and, in a very woodelven gesture, stuck out his hand to shake.

His left hand.

Maedhros took it. _This poor child. The height, the hair, the handedness, and he's a swordsman by these calluses. He must send everyone into panic when they first see him, thinking he's me._

__

"It's really nice to meet you!" said Ríros. "Have you been here before?"

"No, I haven't. It's very nice, though; I like the architecture."

"Me too, it's so different from home. I don't get to travel a lot--" _I can see why._ "--but I like seeing all the different ways people build things. I've always wanted to go to Gondor and see their cities, too," he said with a sigh.

Here was an opportunity. Just a few nudges to the conversation... "The Gondorian aesthetic is very much inspired by that of Númenor, as its founders were Númenóreans. You can see it in their buildings even though they're built for a different climate." That sounded about right. Maedhros had never been to Númenor, but that was the impression he got. And saying things confidently was usually good enough.

Ríros went starry-eyed. "You've been to Númenor?"

Perfect. "In its early days. I admired King Elros Tar-Minyatur greatly. Actually, I was wondering, is there any sort of formal memorial to him around? I'd like to pay my respects. I've seen statues in Gondor, of course, but it's not the same."

"Oh definitely! His brother, Elrond Peredhel, built one for him at Imladris a long time ago."

Imladris? Ah yes, the dwarves called it Rivendell. Then this trip was a success.

He had a location -- an elven settlement, yes, and not nearby, but one where he could say goodbye to Elros and possibly get directions to Elrond's grave.

"Thank you," he said, as levelly as he could. "I shall have to visit. Have you ever been to Imladris?"

"No," said Ríros. He moved a hand as if to touch his hair, only to snatch it back when he remembered the hat. "I would like to, but I was told it would 'distress people,' though I've no idea why. King Thranduil preemptively banned me from going there."

Ríros didn't even know _why_ Imladris didn't welcome red-haired elves? He must be very young, indeed! "Probably for the best, if you do have red hair as your name says."

Ríros sighed, having been found out. "I do. Most people outside the forest won't even talk to me if it's uncovered, or they give me weird looks. I've also been preemptively banned from Lothlórien by its rulers, and my king said I also can't go to Forlond or Harlond. I'm only here on the condition that I hide my hair most of the time. People keep making these incomprehensible jokes about sending me to Tol Himling, too."

"It could be worse. You could've been named Carafin." It just meant 'red hair,' but sounded far too much like his brothers' names.

Ríros looked puzzled. "Why would that be worse?"

Maedhros paused for a moment, then said, "Why don't you get yourself a history book about the First Age, it'll explain some things." He felt bad for this young elf, ostracized for his bad luck in appearance and Maedhros's crimes. "I'm sorry people are so rude to you."

"It's okay. Back in the forest everyone's nice, it's just outside where there are problems. And I met the Ghost of the Shores, and he talked to me even with my hair uncovered, which was very nice of him."

"Ghost of the Shores?" He'd never heard of such a being before.

"He wanders the coasts and beaches, and he helps people in need. It's good luck if you see him or hear his music. He's definitely an elf, or a ghost of one, and I met him a few days ago."

"Really?" How strange. Could elves become ghosts? Houseless spirits that remained behind tended to be Men, but it might be possible.

Ríros nodded. "It's all sort of dreamlike and foggy now, but he didn't hesitate to speak to me, even though he saw my hair. He told me to go to Imladris for answers, but I couldn't manage to tell him I can't go there."

"Might I recommend," said Maedhros, lowering his voice, "from one redhead to another, brown or black hair dye works very well for traveling unnoticed among elves."

Ríros's face was a picture of shock as Maedhros patted him on the shoulder and took his leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!  
> please leave a comment and/or kudos, they make me so happy!


	8. Maglor Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ríros meets the Ghost of the Shores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends, it's time for another ~maglor interlude~  
> very short, but i'll be posting the next full-length chapter soon
> 
> i have to physically restrain myself from just posting all of what i have written at once lmao, but part of me is like "don't publish till you've written a whole new chapter! that 14-chapter buffer is necessary!"
> 
> there aren't any new silm notes for this one

Maglor was back near Mithlond. His burned hand had been bothering him more than usual, so he was mostly just hanging around, reflecting on his bad choices.

Until he saw someone walking down the beach.

Maglor immediately started singing, under his breath, a spell of fog, both physical and mental. He didn’t mind talking to the occasional stranger, but he didn’t want them figuring him out. When the figure’s hat blew off in the wind, exposing their long red hair, he faltered slightly.

The person came towards him after catching the hat, clearly affected by the song of fog by their slow and dreamy manner, and called out, “Hail and well met!” with a cheery wave.

“Hello,” he called in response.

Upon reaching him, the stranger said, “My name is Ríros Orchalion! Are you the Ghost of the Shores?”

Right to the point, this one. A wood-elf, by his clothing. “I have been called that, yes. Why?”

Ríros shrugged. “I don’t know. Just checking, I suppose. I had to get out of the city for an afternoon, and I figured I’d go to the beach. I didn’t know there’d be anyone here.”

“Are you avoiding people?” asked Maglor. Perhaps he wasn’t used to more crowded cities, if he’d grown up in the forest.

“Well, no, people are avoiding me. Everyone who sees my hair won’t talk to me, or gives me strange looks or glares, and I’m sick of it. I want to travel the world, but this happens every time I leave the Greenwood, and I don’t even know  _ why. _ ” Ríros’s eyes filled with tears. This wasn’t a new occurrence, judging by the practiced tirade.

Maglor had to fight the urge to adopt him on the spot. “Listen, young one,” he said, laying a comforting hand on Ríros’s shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong; they’re just being rude to you over something you can’t control. They are behaving very badly and should be ashamed. But you are going to find friends who appreciate you, I’m sure of it. And if you want to know why, I’m sure there’s someone in Imladris who can help you,” he said.

After all, Elrond would never turn away someone so in need of help and advice, even if it brought up unpleasant memories. Maglor felt bad about that, he’d prefer never to remind his foster son of his childhood among murderers, but this Ríros didn’t deserve to be outcast for the sins of another and not understand the reason.

Ríros looked about to say something, but Maglor pulled the fog in tighter and used it to disappear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there you have it! ríros is baby  
> also, please check out my new oneshot "Story-Telling Wanderer" for more maglor content!
> 
> please leave a comment and/or kudos!!!


	9. An Unexpected Gandalf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an old.. friend? enemy? acquaintance parted with on bad terms? appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 updates in a row! the last one was a bit short and i'm just very excited to publish this chapter :)
> 
> silm notes:  
> -the thing about "leaving people leaderless" is @ like most of the high kings but especially fingolfin who did something he knew would end with him dying and left his son to fix it (it was metal though)  
> -Gandalf is a type of being called a Maia, kind of like an angel. sauron, the other wizards, and balrogs are also Maiar. people who live in the undying lands tend to meet them  
> -at the end of the war that defeated morgoth, the remaining silmarils were claimed by a Maia on behalf of the Valar, who had defeated them, rather than being returned to the feanorians, due to their crimes. this had no legal precedent and was the wrong idea in any case. yes i'm bitter  
> -fingolfin marched up to morgoth's house and challenged him to single combat. predictably, fingolfin died

In the year 2841, King Thráin set out with a small group of his people to revisit Erebor, leaving Thorin in charge.

Maedhros understood the impulse, as his personal quest was very similar, but Thráin had responsibilities here. If he managed to reclaim Erebor, though…

As it turned out, Thráin disappeared. The people who had gone with him, including his kinsmen Balin and Dwalin, returned defeated to the Ered Luin.

Thorin II Oakenshield became king.

Maedhros was intimately familiar with the difficulties of being a king-in-exile, but he had to admit Thorin was doing a good job. Thorin worked (and overworked) diligently to improve the lives of his people, even though he never quite gave up on the dream of killing Smaug and returning to Erebor. He never married, but doted on his nephews, the sons of Princess Dís.

Maedhros became the default babysitter for most of the dwarrowlings of the refugees. He was very pleased by this turn of events.

Which was part of the reason, when Thorin started planning a great Quest for Erebor in late March of 2941, just under a hundred years after Thráin did the same, Maedhros hesitated to volunteer.

There were other reasons, too, most notably that the last person who had tried it was never heard from again. And no one should encourage Thorin to go off on a foolish mission and leave his people leaderless. And Thorin seemed on the verge of outright obsession with reclaiming the Lonely Mountain. It was more familiar than he would have liked. But he would get to travel...

So Maedhros joined the Company of Thorin Oakenshield on the Quest for Erebor, partly to help and partly to search for the graves of his children. The other dwarves of the Company understood perfectly, considering their main quest was for their ancestral home.

And if he also had a Quest to Keep Thorin Sane, that was his own business.

Thorin gathered the Company together for a meeting. Maedhros found himself greeted by Fíli and Kíli.

He turned to Thorin. "Absolutely not," he said.

Thorin sighed. "They insisted."

"That doesn't mean you get to bring your heirs into danger! Strategically, if nothing else, it's absurd. And Kíli is underage!"

"Not very!" Kíli protested.

He gave the brothers a flat look. "Your mother will kill us all if either of you gets so much as a scratch. Mine still hasn't forgiven me for my youngest brothers' scraped knees while they were under my watch." That was true, though a lot more had happened to the younger brothers he was responsible for since then.

More people started arriving. Glóin and Óin, Dori and his brothers, and a few more.

When the last person walked into the room, Maedhros nearly turned around and walked out.

What was  _ Olórin  _ doing here? And looking like an old man?

But to be fair, the Maia looked just as surprised to see him.

The room went silent as they stared at each other.

Maedhros broke the silence first. "...Olórin. I can't say I was expecting to see you here."

"Likewise. And I go by Tharkûn here, or Mithrandir among elves. Or Gandalf."

"Hmm. So what's with the," he gestured, "appearance? Last time I saw you, I think you had wings. Why did you decide to change your look?"

"Last time I saw you, you were falling into a volcano. Why are you alive?"

"Point taken."

Gandalf sighed. "Is this about the Arkenstone?"

"No, I gave that to Thrór as a gift. I will see no more wars fought for it. It belongs to Thráin if he's alive, Thorin if not. And just to be clear, we're not handing it over to whoever kills the dragon. Not to be bitter, of course."

The dwarves were in equal measure confused and entertained by the pair's cryptic sniping.

"Of course. Why, then? Forgive me if I'm slow to believe you, by the way."

"I want to help my friends. You well know my feelings on loyalty. And I plan to find the tombs of my sons so I can mourn them properly."

Gandalf looked more nonplussed than ever. "Wait, your sons?"

"The Peredhel twins. Surely you heard of their 'vile kidnapping' at our hands. They died while I wasn't around and I want to pay my respects. And who did you _ think _ was running the House after I disappeared? My nephew wanted nothing to do with us."

"Fair, but he did change his mind." Something unidentifiable flickered in Gandalf's eyes.

"Yes, when my sons were in charge. Now why are you here?"

"Would you look at that, we're back on topic!" exclaimed Glóin.

"Yes. Well. I'm here to help with the Quest," said Gandalf. "I met Thorin over in Bree, and thought that reclaiming the mountain was a worthy goal. I've found you a burglar to bring along on the mission, too, which should be helpful for sneaking around."

Thorin huffed. "And as I've said, the dragon hasn't been seen in ages. I doubt Smaug would wake if we went through the front door and announced ourselves, and that’s if he’s still alive."

"That is  _ exactly _ how people die," said Dwalin and Maedhros in unison.

Maedhros had accidentally popularized the phrase amongst Durin's Folk, given that it was his default response to people suggesting oddly specific things that he knew from experience were a bad idea. He said it constantly.

Thorin raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, we won't do that. Let's talk logistics."

Gandalf spoke up. "You'll be able to meet the burglar on April twenty-sixth. He lives in the house Bag End, in Hobbiton in the Shire. There’ll be a standard burglar rune on the door so it'll be easy to find."

Maedhros had heard of hobbits before, from his friends who'd been to the Shire and Bree, but never seen one himself.

He settled in for a long planning session.

* * *

After the meeting, during which nobody managed to get Fíli and Kíli off of the roster, Gandalf cornered Maedhros to talk.

“Listen,” said the Maia. “Don’t misunderstand, I’m glad you’re coming on the quest. I think you’ll be essential. But I don’t want there to be a conflict of interest over the Arkenstone or anything else.”

“Don’t worry. I gave it away and never felt the urge to take it back. It belongs to Thorin, like I said, and no one else has any right to it but Thráin, if he lives, and maybe Dís. Because it was Thrór’s, before the dragon took it, and then he died.” Maedhros gave Gandalf a hard look. “Dwarven property law is  _ remarkably _ similar to that of my people, you know. The only thing I'm on the quest for, aside from the obvious, is to find the last resting places of my foster sons."

“That’s fine then. And I understand where you’re coming from, but I had nothing to do with that whole situation; I was barely there. Believe it or not, magical property disputes are  _ not _ my idea of a good time.”

“Glad we’re on the same page."

"And if you want, I can help you look. I was friends with Elrond, though I wasn't there for the Last Alliance," Gandalf offered.

Maedhros said, grudgingly, "That would be appreciated."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gandalf: hmm i think i will cause problems on purpose. for the Drama of it all
> 
> please leave a comment and/or kudos!!!


	10. Introductions Are Necessary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Bilbo, and Maedhros is too tall for hobbit-holes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good news: the doc i'm writing in says i just hit 30k words with 26 chapters written  
> bad news: i now have to edit that so i can give it to y'all
> 
> but you will def be getting regular updates!
> 
> also i have a new au idea... it involves faramir and also maglor...  
> but i promised myself i'd finish writing this fic first lol
> 
> silm notes:  
> -"far over the misty mountains cold" has a line about catching light in gems, which is what the silmarils did  
> -the song as a whole is uh... rather feanorian

April passed by quickly. Each member of the Company set out towards Hobbiton with only what they thought they would need and Gandalf's rudimentary directions (and a reminder to use Maedhros's false name until he indicated otherwise).

When he arrived at the marked hobbit-hole and knocked on the door, a frazzled hobbit answered it.

"Well met," said Maedhros, bowing. "My name is Adarngail. May I come in?"

"Bilbo Baggins. A pleasure," said the hobbit, not looking as if he meant it. "Yes, come in. Are you a friend of these dwarves who've shown up?"

"Depends on the dwarves," he said with a grin. "But I believe so. There'll be fourteen of us, all told, not including Gandalf."

"Fourteen?" said Bilbo, looking slightly faint as he led him through the house. The ceilings were so low that Maedhros gave up on bending and instead walked on his knees.

"Yes, fourteen, we -- ah! Balin, Dwalin, I'm glad you made it safely," he greeted upon sight of the brothers.

The two dwarves were eating enthusiastically. Maedhros started to realize the reason for Bilbo's distress. Dwarves could eat quite a lot, and he might not have enough food prepared.

"Hello lad!" called Dwalin. "Master Baggins has been kind enough to offer us some food."

"And you've been kind enough to accept, I see. Thank you for your hospitality, Master Baggins."

At that point, the doorbell rang and Bilbo went to answer it.

The people at the door, as it turned out, were Fíli and Kíli, who were ushered into the dining room by an increasingly harried-looking Bilbo.

By the time Gandalf and the rest of the dwarves arrived, Bilbo was snippy and exasperated.

"If you wouldn't mind  _ telling _ me what this is all about," the hobbit said to Gandalf pointedly.

"I believe that is for Thorin to explain," Gandalf said, gesturing to the aforementioned dwarf, who sat at the head of the table. "And after we eat."

Bilbo looked furious, but his host's instincts and deeply ingrained manners overruled his anger. He served dinner murderously.

After the meal, and a rather fun song for washing the dishes to, Bilbo demanded answers.

Thorin cleared his throat. "Yes, well. First of all, we appreciate your hospitality and welcome. To answer your question, we are on a quest to reclaim our home, the mountain of Erebor, from the dragon Smaug, and find ourselves in need of a burglar or other sort of adventurer skilled at moving unseen. Gandalf here assures me that you would be suitable for the task, and so we wished to hire you to join our Company and help us retake the Lonely Mountain."

Ah, Thorin. Always with the run-on sentences. At least this time he had limited himself to just a few of them.

Bilbo still seemed unsatisfied. He crossed his arms.

"We can explain it in a song, if you like," Thorin offered.

Bilbo sighed. "It can't make any of this make _ less _ sense. Go ahead."

Maedhros sang along to "Far Over the Misty Mountains." He had helped to write this one, adding a few references to his brother's dragonfire song. Unfortunately, quite a bit of it hit too close to home, so he reserved his voice for the later verses.

As always, he tried not to look like the words "and light they caught / to hide in gems" bothered him, and as always, he failed miserably. Bombur gave him a concerned glance.

The last chord rang through the room.

A short pause followed.

"I have further questions," said Bilbo. "First, what made you think that I am a burglar, or any kind of adventurer? Such dangerous pastimes are quite disrespectable for a hobbit; I'm sure I wouldn't be caught dead going on an adventure. What would the neighbors think?"

"Why, there is a rune on your door!" exclaimed Glóin. "One that signifies such."

"There is no rune, the door's only just been painted."

Gandalf coughed. "I put it there."

Bilbo turned the full force of his glare, which was not inconsiderable, onto the wizard.

"Did you now?"

"I decided you were the best choice for the final member of this Company."

"...Fine. Rude and unhelpful, but fine. Second question: why did you bring an elf?"

Maedhros took that as his cue to speak. "I am here to help my friends on this Quest, and I once lived in Erebor, too. And I am looking for something along the way." He wasn't going to divulge the details of his personal goal to someone he'd barely met.

This statement was met with nods of confirmation from the dwarves.

"At least  _ someone _ is capable of giving actual answers around here," said Bilbo. "Now, if I were to go on this adventure --  _ if _ , mind -- what exactly would we be doing?"

Thorin opened his mouth and took a deep breath, ready to begin another long speech.

Ori interrupted him. "We all go to the mountain, you sneak in and find the dragon's weakness, we kill the dragon, and everyone's happy."

Thorin closed his mouth.

_ Thank goodness for Ori, _ thought Maedhros.

"Also," said Gandalf, "I brought something that might help with that." He pulled a key and a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. Both looked old and worn. "These are the map and the key to the secret entrance of Erebor, given to me by Thráin just before he died."

Óin spoke up. "I believe it's our turn to demand answers now. You  _ found _ him?"

"Yes. As it turned out, he was captured by a Necromancer, and I found him in a dungeon. He gave me these for you, Thorin."

"Well, that gives me hope," said Thorin. "Now that we have this new advantage, I daresay we shall have an easier time of it. But it grows late, and we have an early start tomorrow, so we ought to get to bed."

Poor Bilbo had the unenviable task of finding sleeping places for thirteen dwarves and Gandalf. Maedhros, meanwhile, chose to sleep outside. "It's a beautiful night," he said, "and you know how elves love the stars." In truth, he simply didn't want to cause more trouble for his host, having to find a spot for someone so tall.

* * *

Just before dawn, Maedhros awoke to the rest of the Company leaving the hobbit-hole.

"Is Master Baggins not accompanying us, then?" he asked.

"No, indeed not, friend 'Adarngail,' for he is still asleep," said Bofur, with a very conspicuous wink on the false name. "We were hoping you could stay behind till he wakes, and give him this job offer." He handed Maedhros a piece of paper.

"We'll be traveling east on the road, you'll have no trouble catching up," said Dwalin.

Maedhros nodded. "I'll see you soon, then. Safe travels!"

The dwarves (and Gandalf) set off.

Maedhros headed into Bag End, shuffling around on his knees, and started cleaning up from breakfast. So many guests left a lot of dishes.

An hour and a half later, probably awoken by the noise of cleaning, Bilbo wandered into the kitchen, yawning.

"Good morning, Adarngail," he said. "Where has everyone gone?"

"Good morning, Master Baggins. They've all set off eastwards, and asked me to stay to give you this, the official job offer." He handed the paper to Bilbo. "I also cleaned up and made you some breakfast; you've had your hands full with fifteen visitors."

Bilbo gratefully accepted the breakfast and a cup of tea, settling down to eat as he read the job offer.

When he was done, he looked up at Maedhros. "You know, I think I would like to go on this adventure. I'll go pack."

"Glad to have you with us!" Maedhros called as the hobbit bustled off. He finished the last of the dishes and waited.

Bilbo showed up a few minutes later with a pack and the two set off at a brisk pace, soon to meet up with the rest of the Company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> as always, please leave a comment and/or kudos, they make my day!!!  
> also check out the oneshots i recently published :)
> 
> and can i just say i LOVE thorin's characterization in the hobbit book? he just never shuts up and the narration makes fun of him for it


	11. On the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo learns part of Maedhros's tragic backstory and a troll-hoard is discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok good news! i have officially written the last chapter of this fic, so you'll be getting updates every few days until the whole thing is posted
> 
> silm notes:  
> -i think that Narsil should be elros's sword, given to him by mae. i see any object in tolkien and go "how can i make this found family"  
> -"aurë entuluva" was the battle cry of húrin, it means "day shall come again" anyway it's very metal  
> -maedhros's brother curufin was a great smith. i know it says the blades were made in gondolin, not for gondolin but i think this would be cool  
> -gandalf is the world's number 1 noldor fanboy. this is canon, he fanboys over feanor in lotr  
> -turgon was mae's cousin, king of gondolin, and aredhel was turgon's sister. ecthelion lived in gondolin and killed four balrogs and had a really dumb helmet  
> -the "reconciliation gifts" thing is a guess, but i feel like the feanorians had to do some sort of "sorry we abandoned you to the ice" gesture  
> -elrond is descended from turgon so technically if he wanted any of those swords they would belong to him, but he's too smart to get into a property dispute over heirlooms

The group had been traveling for two weeks when the general topic of conversation turned towards family. The dwarves all spoke of their parents and siblings, and exactly how they were related to all the other members of the Company. Glóin spoke at length about his beloved child Gimli, and how well the young one was growing. Bilbo, for his part, explained the complex relationships and family feuds in the Shire, lingering particularly on his distaste for Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

Then he turned to Maedhros. "What about your family, Adarngail?"

Maedhros probably should have expected the question, but nonetheless found himself thrown. "My family? Well, I had brothers, but they are all gone from these shores, sailed or killed."

Bilbo tried to pat his shoulder in sympathy, but could only reach his arm.

"I had children as well, twin sons. My name refers to them -- 'Adarngail,' father of stars. They, too, along with my nephew, are long dead. I hope to find their graves on this journey."

Needless to say, this brought the mood down quite a bit. The Company fell silent for a time as they moved on.

* * *

Another few weeks into the journey, Bilbo was sent to scout ahead, for firelight was spotted in the night.

When no signals were seen or heard, and he did not return, Maedhros volunteered to go after him. "For I can move silently, though I am much larger than our burglar," he said.

And he was glad for this stealth, for he found that Bilbo had been captured by trolls! He gave the owl-call signal for “danger, need backup” and crept just outside of the light given off by the trolls' cookfire.

Bilbo seemed to be stalling them very well. If Maedhros could take and hide the trolls' weapons, he could even the odds in the inevitable fight. Trolls could fight well enough with their hands, true, but had less reach.

He had taken two of their three clubs when Bilbo said something that caused the trolls to start arguing amongst themselves and managed to slip away.

Unfortunately, it was then that the dwarves arrived.

The trolls didn't notice until Balin had come up and stabbed one in the knee, but once they did, they were grabbing dwarves left and right and stuffing them into sacks to eat later.

Maedhros rolled his eyes, drew his sword (his second-best sword, the best one had been given to Elros for his coming-of-age), and joined the fight. Bilbo appeared to be sneaking around, getting people out of the sacks just as soon as they were put in.

Maedhros managed to put one of the trolls down on the ground with the help of Dwalin, but another snatched Bilbo up. Kíli, who had been covering him, swore.

"Language!" came the admonishment from Thorin, Glóin, Maedhros, and Balin simultaneously.

Maedhros went after Bilbo to free him from the sack he'd been stuffed into, dodging the feet and arms of trolls as he went.

Just before he reached the hobbit, though, the one troll who still had a club swung it. Maedhros felt a heavy blow to his back, one that winded him and sent him sprawling.

The next thing he knew, he was being put in a bag half his size by a troll who was very confused as to why he wouldn't fit. The troll left him there, frustrated. Maedhros rolled his eyes -- the bag was far too small for him; his hands were still free!

Maedhros felt rather undignified as he wriggled out of the sack. Hopefully no one had seen that.

By the amused looks as he freed Bilbo in turn, everyone had seen that.

He went to go find his sword.

Before he was able to rejoin the fight, a familiar gray-robed figure appeared atop a nearby rock outcropping. Where had Gandalf been all this time?

Gandalf called out, "Aurë entuluva, rock-eaters!" as dawn broke over the hills.

And the trolls turned to stone.

The moment the Company had all its members freed from sacks, and the relief had worn off a little, they rounded on Gandalf as one.

"Where were you?" demanded Thorin.

Gandalf got defensive. "Busy! I thought you could handle this, so I went off looking for their daytime hiding place in case there were more. There weren't," he said before anyone could ask.

"You didn't even do anything," groused Bifur.

"Well, I did find their cave. There's some sort of lock on it, though, so I couldn't see what they had inside."

Bilbo pulled out a key, to the astonishment of everyone. "What? I picked their pockets," he explained defensively, as though it were obvious and everyone should have expected this, him being a burglar and all.

"Then let us see what sort of treasures they have stolen and locked up here," said Gandalf. He led them to the cave and opened the door.

The cavern was filled with treasures of all kinds: food, clothes, jewelry, gold, weapons, and everything else it was possible to steal. Maedhros was pretty sure he saw an entire loom in the back.

But the most eye-catching sight was that of two swords and a knife, clearly old by their scabbards, but of high quality. When Thorin cleared off the cobwebs and partially unsheathed one, Maedhros gasped.

"Could I see that for a moment?" he asked, willing his voice not to tremble. Thorin handed the blades over.

Upon a closer look, tears welled up in his eyes. He wiped them on his sleeve. "My brother made these," he said by way of explanation. "Long ago, in a land now sunk beneath the sea, he forged these for our cousins in Gondolin and their people. How could they have come here?"

Gandalf said, "Perhaps a series of plunders, starting with the fall of that great city? I confess I know not. But what blades are these?"

Maedhros unsheathed the largest and turned it over in his hands to read its inscription. "Glamdring, Turgon's sword. Given to him as a reconciliation gift." He looked at the smaller sword. "This one is called Orcrist. It belonged to -- what was his name, he had that strange ugly helmet… Ecthelion! It was a wedding present, I believe. And this one…" he eyed the knife. "This blade has no name as such, but it was given to Aredhel, also as a reconciliation gift."

"They're still sharp," noted Fíli.

Maedhros was almost offended on Curufin's behalf. "Of course they are! My brother was a great craftsman. They also glow blue if there are orcs or goblins around." Unfortunately, they didn't glow to warn of the unexpected presence of dragons or balrogs, but no one was expecting  _ that _ to be a necessary feature.

"Would it be alright if we took them?" said Gandalf. "I have no sword, and Thorin's was broken in the fight. And I daresay that our burglar may in the future need to defend himself."

Maedhros was abruptly reminded of the times that Olórin, for so he had been back then, had rather awkwardly fawned over his family. "You didn't seem to need a blade before, Gandalf. If you didn't bring one, that's on you. But as you well know, there is no one left with any claim to these weapons, whether by kingship or lineage. I see no problem with taking them."

So Gandalf took the sword Glamdring, Thorin took Orcrist, and Bilbo took the unnamed knife, which due to his size was practically a sword.

Then, the Company decided to take a well-earned break.

* * *

It was Gandalf who spoke first, as they rested on the ground.

"We will make for the valley of Rivendell next, to resupply. And to have a loremaster look at that map of yours, Thorin, to see if the location of the secret entrance can be divined."

Thorin choked a bit on his pipe and yelled, "Absolutely not!" at the same time Maedhros said, "Out of the question!"

"I didn't bring any hair dye, Gandalf! It won't be safe," Maedhros continued. "I can't be around other elves without it, and I'd rather not be around them at all." He would've been willing to try and sneak in and see Elros's tomb, but entering the valley openly was a different matter altogether.

"Seconded! I can't stand elves. Present company excepted, of course," said Thorin.

"Of course," said Maedhros, nodding.

Gandalf sighed. "Imladris is a place of learning and peace. The elves there will be helpful, I am sure, and glad to welcome us." Maedhros looked about to protest, so he said pointedly, "It was founded in the Second Age by Elrond Peredhel."

That shut Maedhros up. He sat silent for a few seconds, and finally said, "...Fine. I'll go. But if anything happens, go on without me."

The dwarves, who were sympathetic to Maedhros's plight, agreed to go to Rivendell.

Gandalf said, “Excellent! I shall send word on ahead,” and then proceeded to have an in-depth conversation with a bird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a comment and/or kudos!!! :)
> 
> fun fact: i needed an insult for the trolls so i dug out my discworld books but couldn't find a good one oof :(
> 
> this chapter was written and edited while blasting "On the Road" from the musical Big Fish, which, as I always warn people, is not actually good in any way but unfortunately I am attached. The song is about a dude making friends with a giant and going on a roadtrip with him


	12. Ríros Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a wild Ríros appears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations:  
> -cordovel: sindarin name, "small red apple"  
> -orchal: sindarin name, "tall one"  
> -húnalahanda: quenya, "cursed idiot"
> 
> silm notes:  
> -i firmly believe that all sindarin and noldorin elves have a knee-jerk panic response to red hair due to maedhros. to be fair, he did do a lot of murders  
> -maedhros was in fact cursed, along with all the other noldor in the first age, but he also had the Murder Oath which made him extra cursed

Ríros was having a wonderful time.

True, he had not been allowed to go into Imladris proper, by King Thranduil’s order, instead having to go through the edges of the valley, but he was away from the place now and didn’t have to wear a hat. And maybe someday he could actually go there!

He was following his mothers, Orchal and Cordovel (so named because she was red-haired and small) who led the party of elves from the Greenwood on a journey to visit Círdan, when they ran into a big group of dwarves. And also Mithrandir.

And Adarngail, his fellow redhead, over there off to the side! He ran over to the other elf.

“Hello, Adarngail!” he said cheerfully. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you! You’re wearing a hood, did you not dye your hair?”

Adarngail pulled back before realizing who it was. “No, I didn’t,” he said. “And I wasn’t expecting to see you here, either! Where are you headed?”

“To the Gray Havens, so I’ll have to wear that awful hat. But maybe I’ll see the ghost again, he was very nice!”

“That sounds fun. You’re coming west, did you finally get to see Imladris?”

“Not well,” said Ríros. “I went through the valley, but only the outskirts, because King Thranduil said I had to. People stared a lot.”

“Oh, Ríros, I’m sorry,” said Adarngail.

“They also called me some sort of name I don’t understand. I think it was Húnalahanda?”

Adarngail hissed in sympathy. “It’s an insult in Quenya. Very rude of them to insult you at all, let alone in a language you don’t speak,” he said.

“What does it mean?”

Adarngail looked away, but answered. “It means ‘cursed idiot.’ Which is wholly untrue,” he hurried to reassure Ríros, “you are neither of those things, but… you bear a great resemblance to a long-ago elf who  _ was _ cursed.”

“Oh.” That explained a lot, actually. Ríros felt his eyes well up with tears.

Adarngail looked horrified at having made him cry. “Oh, Ríros, it will be alright. They are wrong, you hear? You’re a wonderful elfling, and everybody will see that one day. Do… do you need a hug?”

Ríros accepted by throwing his arms around Adarngail and sobbing. Adarngail, for his part, patted his back soothingly and murmured words of comfort.

When the tears subsided, Ríros said, “Thank you. I just -- I don’t understand why they would be so mean to me about something I can’t help. I’m not that other elf.”

“I know. And I am not trying to make excuses for those who are so rude, only trying to explain, when I say it is because they are afraid.”

“Afraid? Of me?” Such an idea was laughable. He was young and had never even been on a proper adventure, why would anyone fear him?

“The elf you resemble was terrible, and hurt a great number of people,” said Adarngail. “They fear him, and they see him at first sight when they look at you. Should he ever return to plague these lands, I would be fearful, too. But they feel ashamed for being scared of you, for that moment before their minds catch up, and take it out on you.” He chuckled. “And they probably believe you to be cursed, and that they too will be affected if they interact with you. But you are clearly free of any evil; they are foolish for thinking so.”

Ríros sighed and wiped his eyes. “Thank you for telling me. You’re the best, Adarngail.” It was a relief to know that the other elves didn’t hate him personally, but he still didn’t know who it was they mistook him for. “That other elf -- do you know anything about him?”

Adarngail must have gotten some dust in his throat, for he had a coughing fit. “A bit,” he said. “If you can find a history book about the First Age, that should explain it. But most elves don’t like to talk about that time, even if they’re too young to remember it.”

Ríros frowned and said, “Wait, is that why I’ve been preemptively banned from nearly every elven realm?”

“Probably,” Adarngail said with a shrug. “Especially if their leaders ever met him.”

“Well, I’m going to have to find a history book,” said Ríros, determined. He was going to get his answers! And possibly dye his hair brown.

“You do that. Oh, it looks like our leaders are finishing up, so I’ll have to go. But be careful!”

“I will!” said Ríros.

He continued westwards, heart lighter than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter they FINALLY get to rivendell
> 
> please leave a comment and/or kudos! I can't describe how happy they make me :)


	13. Do Not Stand at My Grave and Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we enter Rivendell and there are symbolic flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this chapter isn't the reunion because the graveyard scene got LONG so i had to split this into 2 chapters
> 
> yes i wrote another verse of the tra-la-lally song, and what about it
> 
> flower meanings in endnotes
> 
> silm notes:  
> -in the lotr/hobbit movies, rivendell is covered in 8 pointed stars, which are a symbol of the house of feanor. in my opinion the movies aren't canon except for when they support found family  
> -glorfindel is a tall blonde balrog-slayer who died and got sent back to middle earth, he was bros w elrond's grandma idril  
> -gil-galad was the last high king of the noldor, elrond was his herald. he died fighting sauron in the last alliance  
> -elros was elrond's twin brother who chose to be mortal like arwen and founded numenor, the kingdom that aragorn's ancestors are from

"You may wish to put your hood up now," murmured Gandalf. "We enter the valley in just a moment."

Maedhros did so. He felt the second he passed through the border enchantment, and held his breath, almost expecting to be barred entry.

But he kept walking with no resistance from the magic, nor a sudden appearance of warriors to take him in.

As the Company walked down the sides of the vale, they began to hear a song, seemingly coming from everywhere (it was in truth from a great number of elves hidden and unhidden), and saw elves in the trees and fields singing and dancing along.

The song was a familiar one, the pattern one old enough to have been sung in Aman. Elros and Elrond had loved it as elflings, and demanded more and more of the silly verses based on everything under the sun.

The elves started naming various members of the party, and Maedhros worried they would sing of his true identity. But when Dori tripped and he helped the dwarf up, his fears were put to rest, for they sang:

_O! Where are you heading,_

_Come tell us the story!_

_And watch where you’re treading,_

_Adarngail and Dori!_

_O! tra-la-la-lally, come into the valley,_

_ha! ha!_

“Damned frivolous elves,” muttered Dori after hearing that verse.

“I think they’re doing a fine job with the improvisation,” said Maedhros, who had been forced to listen to his brothers’ and cousins’ improvised music and poetry competitions, including ones based around this song. This was better than quite a bit of what he’d had to hear. And it was nice to hear, honestly; elves had not always been able to be so carefree.

They arrived at an entry courtyard where a dark-haired elf awaited them. “Mithrandir, how good to see you!” he said.

“Ah, Erestor! It is good to be back in Imladris. Is the lord of the valley about?”

“No, I’m afraid, but he should return this evening.” He turned from Gandalf to address the group as a whole. “Welcome to Rivendell, Thorin and Company! It is a pleasure to have you here. Might I show you to a place to stay?”

Thorin nodded gruffly, and they were shown to comfortable rooms, all but two adjusted for the sizes of dwarves and hobbits. Maedhros was rather distracted by all the small, subtle eight-pointed stars hidden in the decorations of what appeared to be every room and corridor.

“I’ll come fetch you all to dinner in a few hours,” said Erestor. “But if I am detained, I shall send Lord Glorfindel. He’s very tall and blonde and difficult to mistake. If you need anything, ask Lindir here,” he said, pulling an elf with a lute out of seemingly nowhere.

_Glorfindel? As in Glorfindel of Gondolin? He certainly matches the description… I had best be careful. If anyone could be reborn and come back to Middle-Earth, it would be him, and he probably has a grudge._

* * *

Later in the afternoon, after a nice bath and some food, Maedhros hid his hair beneath his hood again and walked up to Lindir as nonchalantly as he could.

"Ah, Adarngail!" greeted Lindir. "Do you need anything?"

"If it's not too much trouble. I wanted to pay my respects to a fallen kinsman, could you point me towards the graveyard?"

"Certainly. It's in that direction, past the gazebo. There's a path." He pointed out the way. "My condolences for your loss."

"Thank you," said Maedhros.

The path wound around tranquilly as the cobblestones of Rivendell proper faded into a dirt lane surrounded by trees.

The graveyard, when Maedhros found it, was empty of other visitors. He carefully put his hood down.

A great number of graves and memorials dotted the garden, for a garden it was, ringed by willow and cypress trees, full of lilies and rosemary and climbing ivy, and a great yew tree growing in the center. It felt like a place of rest.

Maedhros began his search.

There were many tombstones for elves, some of them engraved with a discreet star that marked their owners as members of the House of Fëanor. That such a symbol was able to be displayed at all was proof of Elrond's leadership, both of the House and this valley he had once called home.

There were also a few clusters of graves for the Dúnedain. Maedhros knew little of the Rangers, but a great number of them must have lived in Imladris over the years.

After a time, he came to what looked to be the second-largest tomb, ornate and topped with a statue. His heart raced as he brushed dirt away from the name.

"Artanáro Gil-Galad Ereinion," it read.

When Maedhros looked up at the ivy-covered statue, its intended portrayal was obvious.

"Gil-Galad," he murmured. He hadn't come to pay his respects to the king, but he probably should. "You were a good king. The best of us, even, though you had to start so young. I'm sorry. Thank you for taking care of my children when I couldn't. And you likely don't care about my opinion, but I want you to know Elrond's death wasn't your fault. I don't blame you. May you be at peace."

Maedhros bowed to the tomb and continued on.

He passed graves of people he once knew, bowing and speaking their names. There was even a monument to Celebrimbor here, though not on the same scale as the one at Ost-in-Edhil.

At last he reached the yew tree. All around it grew the flowers of mourning: forget-me-nots, marigolds, lilies, aloe and asphodel and lilac.

And here was the largest, most cared-for tomb.

Maedhros approached the monument. He knew without reading the inscription that this was what Elrond had built for Elros; his style of design was unmistakable to the man who had raised him. And there, atop the stone, was a statue.

This was what Elros had looked like. He had grown up, and been king, and later grown old, and then been buried, and now he was commemorated in his brother's grave-garden. And Maedhros had not been there.

"Elros, my son," he whispered, tears in his eyes. "I have missed you. I am sorry I was not there for you, as a father should be, to support you. I had to learn of you from history books. But you were incredible, when I knew you, and you only grew greater. I am so proud."

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "You have never stopped amazing me. No father in the history of Arda could be as proud as I am. Do you know, I've been to Gondor, which your descendants founded. The world grows dark, but there is hope, because of you. Because, in a way, you live on in them, and they work tirelessly to stand against evil just as you always did. I can still see you in this world through the legacy you left," said Maedhros.

He rested his forehead against that of the statue. "I shall not be reunited with you until the Second Singing. But please know that I love you, and I always will. I hope you have found what lies beyond the world, and that it is all you hoped for."

His tears fell upon the statue's cheeks. "Farewell, Elros. My beloved son."

After a long moment, Maedhros reluctantly pulled away. He had another grave to find.

He knew this one would hurt even more to see. Elros had made his choice and died of old age, but if Maedhros had only been there, only stayed, only not left his child to fight the Shadow alone -- Elrond might have lived.

And Maedhros had to continue on in a world without his children in it, knowing he might have been able to save one of them.

He walked away from the statue of Elros and down the line of graves.

Surprisingly enough, Elrond wasn't buried next to his brother, nor anywhere near him.

In fact, Maedhros couldn't find any sort of tombstone for Elrond.

He resolved to start over. Maybe he had missed it somehow. He pushed away the feeling of something wrong -- Elrond had founded this place and built a great monument for Elros here, so it wouldn't make sense for his resting place to be easily skipped over. People spoke well of him, surely they would want to commemorate such a leader?

The second pass through the graveyard yielded nothing new, but for a small memorial stone behind the yew tree, almost entirely covered in asphodel flowers.

It read, "In Memory of Maedhros Fëanorion," and in smaller text, "Beloved Father and Uncle."

Maedhros stood before it in shock. _I didn't think anyone would miss me much at all,_ he thought. _I never -- I never expected this._

And by the text, Celebrimbor had forgiven him somewhat, at least enough to grieve. The little stone was hidden behind the tree, not out in the open, for one such as Maedhros could not be mourned openly. But it existed, and that gave him hope; perhaps there was one somewhere for Maglor, too.

Elrond had given him a grave when he was thought dead. He had to find his son's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flowers!  
> grief/death/mourning: aloe, cypress, lily, marigold, yew, willow  
> remembrance: rosemary, forget-me-not  
> peace, healing: ivy  
> "my regrets follow you to the grave": asphodel
> 
> the lilac is there because of the book Night Watch by Terry Pratchett. its actual symbolic meaning is irrelevant here, in context it's meant to symbolize grief and loss
> 
> anyway please leave a comment and/or kudos! reunion is next chapter :)


	14. There Isn't One, I Didn't Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> f i n a l l y we get to the reunion scene!! yay!  
> yes mae is really this dumb, leave him alone  
> in his defense gandalf all but told him elrond was dead and he didn't really have any reason to believe otherwise
> 
> anyway silm notes:  
> -the Second Singing is the mythical time when the world will be destroyed and remade better, and supposedly humans will be there and feanor will finally be allowed to come back to life  
> -galadriel was last in line for the high kingship but by the time enough of her family was dead or disinherited for her to be queen, she didn't want it anymore  
> -also sidenote, depending on whose son gil-galad was, elrond was actually ahead of him in the succession but he's too smart to claim the kingship

By the end of his third round of the graveyard, checking every stone with increasing desperation, Maedhros was panicking. He began a fourth.

_ What if I cannot find his tomb? This is the only way I shall see him before the world is remade, for he has surely been reborn by now; I shall not find him in Mandos and I cannot return to Aman,  _ he thought as he once again read every word on every memorial.

_ And that's assuming I will not be immediately thrown into the Void upon my death. I may never see my children again at all. This is my only chance to say goodbye and apologize. _

Maedhros heard quiet footsteps on the path. He hurriedly pulled up his hood. Luckily, whoever was out there probably hadn't seen too much; the little road was rather winding, and there were plenty of trees.

He continued looking, sobs wracking his body, for Elrond's burial place.

_ No no no no no, where is he? _

As Maedhros abandoned his frantic search in favor of crying in front of Elros's grave again, there appeared the silhouette of an elven stranger against the setting sun.

"Do you need assistance?" the figure asked, voice soft and sympathetic.

Maedhros tried ineffectually to wipe his tears, attempting to get a better look at whoever it was. "No, do not worry for me. It is only grief for two that I held dear. Such is common in a graveyard."

The figure stepped closer. "Nonetheless, I would help if I am able."

"You are far too kind, I--" he stopped. This elf who had come into the graveyard looked much like the Elros of the statue. Much like Elrond probably had when he had lived.

He fell to his knees among the leaves and dirt, stricken and sobbing. The stranger hesitated, then stepped forward to offer comfort.

He found himself reaching out, saying, "You look so much like my sons -- but they are long dead, now, and I cannot even find their graves!"

The elf's eyes widened. Maedhros belatedly realized that his hood had fallen off, exposing his face and hair. There was recognition in the elf's expression.

So he scrambled to stand and backed away, and resorted to panicked begging. "Please, I only wished to say goodbye to my children, I shall cause no trouble. I will leave the valley tonight, or remain here under guard, or, or turn myself in, anything, anything, only tell me -- where is my son buried?"

He'd be killed, probably. Thrown out of Imladris, at best, and after that hunted down, officially or by someone with a grudge. That was fine. But perhaps, if he pled, they'd be kind enough to show him Elrond's tomb first, and let him mourn the son he had failed to protect.

If Maedhros could not beg for forgiveness from his children in person, he would at least speak the words to the cold and unmoving stone that was the only thing left of them. He owed them this.

He swallowed and asked again, desperate. "I beg of you, where is the grave of Elrond Peredhel?"

The stranger froze. "There is no grave," he said, approaching Maedhros cautiously. He found himself backed up against Elros's memorial.

Maedhros's mind whirled. No grave? Why would Elrond have no final resting place?  _ Even if -- even if there was nothing left to bury, surely someone would have built something to commemorate him, at least raised a cairn where he died. I will go into Mordor itself if it houses the battlefield where he fell. I doubt I should make it out again, but it matters not. As long as I have the chance to say goodbye. _

_ But no, I will be executed here, like as not. Quick, say farewell to this stone Elros and pretend it's enough. Pretend you haven't failed them once again. Pretend you will be able to face them in the Second Singing when they know you didn't even manage to find Elrond's grave, as poor a substitute as it might be for the person who truly deserves your apology. _

He nodded frantically. "I understand, I do, but let me have one more moment here, would you deny a father this last sight of a son he has lost?"

_ For I will not see them until the world is remade, if then. This is all I will get. They would be right to avoid me, to no longer claim me as family, when I could not do this one simple thing, the bare minimum. They will see me and turn away in disgust for my failure. And naming myself "Adarngail," how could I be so presumptuous? I cannot call myself their father. _

The stranger spoke again. "There is no grave, for I am not dead."

_ No, I will die here, childless, without even a last sight of them and no right to call them mine. Goodbye, my sons, for I can never call you so again. This accursed line ends with me now as it should have back then -- wait, what? _

"I have missed you, atya. I had thought you dead, or I would have searched, I promise," said... Elrond?

Maedhros reached out with his shaking left hand to cup his son's cheek. "Elrond," he breathed. "Is it really you? I thought -- they said you had gone to war, and then -- I thought there was no one left."

Elrond hugged him. "It's really me. I thought you were dead, too."

"But there's no high king." Maedhros said inanely, as his mind struggled to catch up. "Are there any others of us still on these shores, then?"

"Galadriel remains, in her forest of Lothlórien. But there aren't enough people to be king over, really."

That made sense, Maedhros supposed. But none of it mattered. What could, in the face of this reunion? "Enough of that. How have you been?" There were another two thousand, nine hundred, and forty-one years of Elrond’s life he knew nothing about!

"Well, I managed to marry the love of my life. Celebrían, Galadriel's daughter. But she... she was hurt, and had to go West for healing."

"Oh, Elrond, I'm sorry." He couldn't even imagine such a parting. Maedhros tightened his hug.

"What about you? What have you been doing?"

"Looking for -- you see, I thought you were dead, and Elros is gone, so I had been looking for your graves to pay my respects." No need to mention how afraid he had just been, thinking he was to be killed.

"No, I mean, what happened? People don't just survive jumping into lava and staying there."

"I don't know. I woke up two centuries ago to dwarves digging me out of the stone of Erebor, Silmaril still in my hand. I've been staying with them ever since," said Maedhros.

"Strange." Elrond paused, then something seemed to strike him. "Oh! You're a grandfather now. Celebrían and I have children."

Grandchildren! "Tell me about them! I want to hear everything."

"I will, I will," said Elrond, laughing at his father's sudden and intense enthusiasm. "But please come back in, it's getting late. Your dwarven companions will worry."

With a final glance at the statue of Elros, they walked back to the house in peaceful quiet.

After a while, Elrond broke the silence. "Have you seen atto anywhere?"

Maedhros blinked. "No, I assumed he was dead. Or maybe he'd turned himself in to Eönwë. Why?"

Elrond pursed his lips. "We know he didn't die when we thought you did. He threw the stone into the sea, but he didn't go with it." Maedhros winced. "I'm sure he's still alive, but I can't find him, no matter how hard I look."

Maedhros made the connection. "Is he that 'singing wanderer' that I've heard about? A ghost playing laments by the sea sounds very in character."

"That's him. I don't know why he won't come visit," said Elrond.

"I myself was, obviously, in a very bad mental state before I jumped," Maedhros admitted. "The six-thousand-year sleep was beneficial, I think. But he's been in a bad state for millennia and conscious for it, and most likely wallowing in regret. Overthinking everything until he's convinced himself you're better off without."

Was Maedhros projecting his recent feelings of failure and fears of his children's rejection onto Maglor? Well, probably, but that didn't mean he was wrong.

“Well, if you run into him, can you get him to come visit? I miss him. It would be nice to be together again.”

Maedhros smiled at the thought. “I will. So many unlikely things have already happened on this journey, I might well end up finding him. Did Gandalf tell you, we found your great-grandfather Turgon’s sword in a troll hoard?”

“What? He certainly didn’t tell me that, only told me to come out here to the graveyard with no explanation at all. How did it end up there?” asked Elrond, laughing.

“We have no idea! He didn't even tell me you were alive. We also found Ecthelion’s old sword; so perhaps Glorfindel should avoid Thorin for a while. Speaking of Glorfindel, how did  _ that _ happen?”

“Oh, that’s a long story! You see…”

Elrond continued as they went to join their companions for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations: "atya" and "atto" are both quenya words for "dad"
> 
> thanks for reading :)
> 
> please leave a comment and/or kudos if you liked it!


	15. Maglor Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maglor hears a rumor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all! this chapter is a bit short so i'm giving it to you early, and i probably won't be updating for the next few days due to real life getting in the way
> 
> silm notes:  
> -the feanorians speak a form of quenya that uses þ in place of s in some places, such as þauron for sauron. having been raised by them, elrond probably does too  
> -actually i personally think that faramir also speaks that form bc elros was raised by them and he's the one who founded numenor, so people of numenorean descent speak that form, and the real reason galadriel sailed was she heard faramir say "þalutations it'þ niþe to meet you!" and couldn't handle it

Maglor was passing through the Shire when he first heard about it.

A group of dwarves, that troublemaker Gandalf, and some sort of elf had visited Mr. Bilbo Baggins a few days ago, and he left with them, on some sort of (and here they lowered their voices)  _ adventure. _

From what Maglor could gather, they were heading east towards the Misty Mountains. If Mithrandir was with them, the journey would probably include Imladris at some point. And Maglor had a lot of experience creeping around the edges of the valley to overhear news of Elrond without having to cross the border.

He resolved to follow them and find out what this was all about. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

* * *

Well, he was completely right about their path. The guards chatting at the edge of the valley had little to talk about but the strange party of travelers who had just arrived.

“Apparently, they’re heading to Erebor,” said one of the guards. “To reclaim it from the dragon, or some such. Mithrandir organized the group, it seems.”

“What’s with the hobbit, then?”

“You know how Mithrandir is about hobbits.”

The other nodded in understanding. “I do know how he is about hobbits. It’s the elf they brought that I  _ really _ can’t understand. He’s been reclusive, and doesn’t talk to anybody besides his companions and Master Elrond. And he never takes off that hood of his.”

“Maybe he’s Silvan? Some of them cover their hair, because,  _ you know _ ...”

A snort of disbelief. “With that accent of his? I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on, you’ve only heard him speak once or twice at all, let alone in Sindarin.”

“True. But his Westron is very dwarven, isn’t it? Silvan elves don’t talk like that.”

The guards’ conversation devolved into a discussion of accents and dialects (including the time a stressed and sleep-deprived Elrond had stubbed his toe and recited a three-minute curse in a very distinctive form of Quenya involving Þauron, six and a half potatoes, and several, shall we say,  _ unconventional _ uses for a trident), and Maglor pondered his next move.

The strange elf was no concern of his unless he might be recognized. He didn’t have enough information to know, one way or the other, if it was someone who would figure out his identity. He was leaning towards no.

If they were all going to Erebor, though, they might have a way in. Which meant he could follow them and search for the “Arkenstone” to see what it was.

Their path would probably take them through Mirkwood, the easiest and shortest route, but Maglor couldn't enter there, he'd have to go around. He set off to get a head start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> as always, please leave a comment and/or kudos!


	16. Moons and Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gandalf gets lectured and the Quest continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and happy pride month! let's celebrate with a new chapter :)
> 
> silm notes:  
> -mae is indeed significantly older than the moon. so is galadriel  
> -the evening star is elrond's dad earendil, who made a perilous journey to the undying lands by the light of the silmaril that elrond's mom had jumped off a cliff wearing to escape the feanorians because they were trying to get it back and doing murders. so technically mae saved the world by doing kinslayings  
> -the Doom was a curse/prophecy placed on the noldor that said that everything they began well would turn evil  
> -i think narsil should be elros's sword. i know aragorn carried the shards with him (drama queen) but he's too young right now  
> -unfortunately elrond cannot murder gandalf because he is descended from melian, who was of the same type of being as gandalf, so it would be kinslaying  
> -osanwe is elf telepathy

After Maedhros had introduced Elrond to the Company (minus Bilbo, who was late to the meeting) as "my wonderful son, who it turns out was alive this whole time and Gandalf didn't see fit to tell me," and very nearly punched a repentant Gandalf in the face while Elrond’s glare promised some very harsh words for the wizard, they settled down to talk of Erebor.

"It's nearly midsummer, so taking the High Pass over the mountains should be no trouble," said Elrond. "But there have been more reports of goblins lately, so do be careful."

Thorin pulled out the map and key. "There is supposedly a secret way into the Mountain, which my family used to escape, but I was too young to now remember it. The map is meant to show its location, and the key to open the door, but we cannot figure it out."

Elrond carefully took and unfolded the map. He peered at it closely, and did the same with the key, then spoke. "Here on the key are some Cirth runes engraved, that read, 'midsummer waxing crescent.' I believe the map has moon-letters written on it, which should be readable tonight."

"What are moon-letters?" asked Bilbo, who had just arrived.

"A form of writing that can only be seen in the same season and phase of the moon they were first written in," said Elrond. "I believe they shall help you find the door."

"It used to be fairly common in secret communications between some groups of elves and dwarves," said Thorin.

Apparently he  _ had _ been paying attention to his tutors after all.

Bilbo hummed and wondered aloud, "Why didn't we just ask Adarngail, then?"

Maedhros laughed. "Master Baggins, I am far older than the moon! Why should I know of such an innovation?"

The hobbit looked simultaneously put out and fascinated. "Really? Older even than the moon?"

"And the sun too! I was quite confused at their first rising, having no idea what they were."

"What about you, Master Elrond?" asked Fíli, as curious as Bilbo.

"I'm afraid I am younger than the sun and moon," said Elrond. "But Lord Glorfindel, if you've met him during your stay, is older, though it depends how you count it."

"And Elrond is not so very much younger," said Maedhros, rather enjoying this conversation, "only five hundred and thirty-two years. The Evening Star had not yet been set in the sky when he was born! In fact, it first rose on his twelfth birthday."

"And it was a lovely gift for an elfling, I'm sure, but at the time I much preferred the cake," said Elrond.

_ I see the look you're giving me, _ said Maedhros to Gandalf via ósanwe.  _ And technically, indirectly, it was because of me that that happened and the world was saved. So you can stop glaring. _

_ Oh, yes, _ Gandalf replied, rolling his eyes.  _ Maedhros, hero and savior of the world, who definitely did it on purpose and without collateral damage. _

_ Just goes to show you, sometimes if you do bad things for bad reasons, it works out! _ said Maedhros.  _ The Doom rather implied that, actually. _

The meeting devolved into childhood anecdotes of practically everyone at the table (except Gandalf, who told embarrassing stories about everybody), until the moon rose.

"Here we are!" said Elrond when he noticed, eager to change the subject from Gandalf's story (which was about the early days of his crush on Celebrían). "Let me read the moon-letters now."

He read out something poetic about Durin's Day and a symbolic bird or some such.

Well, Thorin seemed to know what that was about, so Maedhros would focus on spending time with Elrond until they had to leave.

* * *

Which turned out to be far too soon. At least he’d gotten to meet Elladan and Elrohir, and little Estel, though Arwen was off visiting Galadriel. All of them seemed unfazed to have Maedhros introduced as their grandfather.

He’d also had to ask why Elros’s sword -- which was once his own -- was sitting in pieces on some sort of fancy table, which didn’t seem like a good place to store sword shards even  _ without _ children around. Apparently there was a prophecy involved as to why it couldn’t be reforged yet.

Estel in particular adored him, and constantly asked to be picked up so he could be tall, too. It made Maedhros’s heart melt, and he had trouble saying no to the little boy.

(He also heard some of Elrond’s verbal lashing of Gandalf, which was entirely deserved. The whole thing lasted a full half hour, included an itemized list of all the times things had turned out badly because Gandalf had decided not to relay vital information, and somehow conveyed the idea of unbelievably foul language without a single curse word leaving Elrond’s lips. Glorfindel took to quoting it daily.)

Glorfindel had, in fact, cried when he first saw Thorin carrying Orcrist, and insisted on “educating” him on all the virtues and accomplishments of the sword’s original owner. After four days of it, Thorin took to running away when he saw the blond coming.

* * *

The Company prepared to leave just after recovering from the injuries sustained in their fight with the trolls, heading for the pass through the Misty Mountains.

It was an easy enough journey, until the giants started throwing boulders at each other in the middle of a thunderstorm.

"I expect  _ you _ to handle this," Maedhros said to Gandalf.

"What do you expect me to do? Start throwing some boulders of my own?" said the wizard, exasperated.

"None of  _ us _ can speak their language."

"Why don't we find some shelter?" said Bilbo, in an attempt to stop the argument before it began.

That seemed like a good idea, so when the Company found a dry cave, they all piled in. They decided to wait out the summer storm there, to dry off and warm up.

They had just started getting comfortable when a piece of the floor and wall moved, and Bilbo disappeared.

Everyone immediately leapt for where he had been, trying to figure out what just happened.

"There's a seam in this wall here," said Nori. "If we can reopen it, we could follow him."

After a few minutes of experimental tapping, Óin managed to hit the right part of the rock, opening it up. From below, they could hear the tell-tale songs and sounds of goblins.

Maedhros said, "I can't see him down there. He must have hidden or found a path away from the goblin-town, but we're too high up for him to reach. We'll have to go down."

As it turned out, there was a staircase leading down, the perfect size for the dwarves, but far too small for an eight-foot-tall elf and Gandalf with his hat.

"The drop isn't too bad," said Maedhros. "I can make it."

"Here's the plan: you two tall folks, go distract the goblins, and we'll pair off and search for Bilbo and an escape route," said Thorin, surprisingly succinct.

Maedhros said, "Wait just a moment before we go. I have to take off my prosthetic."

"But why?" asked Dori. "You might need both hands."

"I know they remember me from tales or some such, I found that out during the war before we came to the Ered Luin. I need them to recognize me, so I can only have one hand."

* * *

"Quick question, do you have a plan?" muttered Gandalf.

"After a fashion. It involves a big, dramatic speech and then stabbing a goblin to start a fight."

"The plan 'involves' that?"

"Perhaps it would be more accurate to say the plan  _ is _ that."

"Ah. Well, here we are. Can the plan involve a dramatic entrance?"

"That's a given."

Maedhros burst into the goblin-town, shouting, "Your doom is come upon you, foul spawn of the Enemy!"

Gandalf followed, shooting off colorful lights from his staff and doing his best to cause a scene. Luckily, he had a lot of practice.

They were herded, in all their yelling light-show glory, towards the center of the city and the Great Goblin.

Maedhros couldn't remember all of what he said, but he was sure it involved a lot of posturing and drama and overly fanciful language, as well as excessive flaunting of his hair. When the Great Goblin told his people to kill the intruders, they drew their swords.

Apparently the goblins recognized Glamdring, too. At least, judging from all the yelling.

The fight was long, loud, and about as boring as a swordfight can be.

Most of the goblins in the immediate vicinity had been defeated by the time Fíli showed up to say, "There you are! We found Bilbo, but there's another group of goblins following. I hope you have an exit!"

"There should be one this way!" called Gandalf, pointing.

The Company, gathered together once more, broke into a run.

They followed Gandalf down through a warren of tunnels, getting hopelessly turned around and confused. They couldn't tell if the goblins were getting nearer or falling behind, as the shape and interconnections of the passages made the echo of their sound unreliable. Time itself distorted in that deep and sunless labyrinth. All of a sudden, they burst into the fresh night air --

\-- where a pack of wargs waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there we go, i hope you liked it! sorry for the cliffhanger lol the chapter was getting long
> 
> these are tough times right now, so i hope this could brighten your day a little :) please stay safe!
> 
> and leave a comment and/or kudos


	17. Eagle Rescue Redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Company does some air travel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and welcome to the new chapter of archaeology, which i am regretting having named archaeology because i'm working on another fic that actually has an archaeologist in it oof
> 
> silm notes:  
> -maedhros got rescued by eagles one time, but he had just gotten his right hand cut off so he was probably passed out  
> -the "great lightlessness" was the darkening of valinor, during which morgoth committed several crimes including murder and none of the valar or maiar did anything about it. like they didn't even go catch him and put him in jail. i personally am bitter  
> -the feanorian lisp makes another appearance lol

“Really?” cried Bofur. “We just got out!”

Maedhros sighed and raised his sword once more, but apparently Gandalf had other ideas. “Quick, into the trees!” cried the wizard.

As the tallest of the Company, it fell to Maedhros to lift the dwarves and hobbit to safety before climbing up himself. “Thank you so much for helping, Gandalf,” he groused. “Truly, where would we be without your strength of arm?”

But the wargs and goblins had them surrounded, and it is well known that neither dwarves nor hobbits are inclined to be away from the solid earth so long, so the situation in the treetops was uncomfortable, to say the least.

Gandalf set some of the wargs on fire, and those of the dwarves who were archers shot them, which worked quite well until the goblins showed up with axes and fire of their own to burn the trees.

It was at that moment, when the first torch had been laid to the foliage, that a bird call came, high and piercing, and a voice with it:

“You dare to set aflame this wood, where the Eagles are wont to roost? Begone!” And a winged shape swooped down and carried off two goblins.

Another and another came, now recognizable as the Eagles of Manwë, down upon the goblins and the wargs. With new hope for survival, the Company fought, too, to protect the Eagles’ place of rest.

When they were at last in no danger, Gandalf spoke to the Eagle in charge.

“Greetings, Gwaihir Windlord.”

“Greetings, Gandalf the Gray,” said the Lord of Eagles. “We thank you for fighting alongside us to protect our wood.”

“It was our pleasure. I wonder, could you and your people help us to a safe place, if it is no trouble? We did not all come out of that scuffle unscathed and would welcome the chance to rest.”

“It is never trouble to help such an old and valued friend. There is a place we can take you all.”

Gandalf turned to the Company. “The Lord of Eagles, my old friend, has agreed to carry us to safety. Everyone climb onto an Eagle’s back and hold on tight, for they move swiftly indeed!”

The dwarves were unaccustomed to flying, and disliked being far from the ground and rock, but Gandalf was well used to it. Maedhros seemed to be enjoying himself. "Why so cheerful, Adarngail?" asked Dwalin, yelling to be heard over the rush of air.

"The last time I was rescued by an eagle, I was unconscious for most of it," Maedhros replied gleefully. "And for the rest I thought I was hallucinating. This time I fully intend to enjoy flying."

Gwaihir said, "We will bring you to the Carrock and the house of Beorn, and you shall be safe there. He is a skin-changer, who can appear as a man or a great bear. Beorn is not over-fond of visitors, but he loves stories and hates goblins, so he may welcome you if you tell him how you fought them."

The Eagles soon landed, and their riders disembarked to the buzzing of many giant bees, for Beorn loved honey, as bears often do, and thus had learned the art of the beekeeper.

Out of the house at the center of all the beehives came a great bearded man, as tall as Maedhros, who greeted the Eagles politely before turning to the Company.

"Who are you, and what is your business here?" boomed the man who had to be Beorn.

Thorin stepped forward. "I am Thorin, son of Thráin," he said, then introduced each of his companions in turn. "We are traveling to Erebor so as to reclaim our home from the dragon, but found ourselves fighting for our lives against wargs and goblins."

"Well!" said Beorn. "If that is true, then you are welcome here for a few days, for any enemy of the goblins is a friend of mine. Come in, I should like to hear your tale."

The Eagles bade them all farewell.

And thus the Company became Beorn's guests, telling him tales of their adventures every night. Maedhros took great delight in telling stories of his children, while Thorin recited his well-practiced story of the discovery of the Arkenstone (with interjections by Maedhros). Bilbo had not had many adventures of his own, but Beorn became quickly invested in Shire gossip.

It took embarrassingly long for anyone to notice that they'd lost time in the goblin tunnels, but Dori noticed that the moon's phase wasn't what it should be. They calculated that they'd lost about two weeks during the chase through the world-warping warren.

When it came time to depart, Beorn was happy to provide them with supplies and directions for a route through Mirkwood.

"I gave the same directions to an elf who passed by not long ago," he said conversationally as he packed food. "He was heading for the same area as you. But he insisted on going all the way around the forest, though it added two hundred miles to the journey."

"How strange! But I suppose he wasn't on a strict timeline, as we are, for we must reach the mountain by Durin's Day," Balin said.

"Now remember, Thorin and Company, do not stray from the path, not even an inch!" Beorn called as they left.

As the traveling party neared the edge of Mirkwood, Maedhros became uneasy. There was some power in the forest that felt familiar somehow, in a most unpleasant way. But he put it from his mind, as it lessened the further north they went, until they reached the entrance to the path Beorn had told them of.

Gandalf said, "It is here I must leave you. I gave some business south of here, and this is after all your quest, not mine. I wish you luck."

Bilbo seemed upset at Gandalf's leaving, as did the dwarves. Maedhros would admit that the wizard could be useful, but was far too annoying and dramatic to be worth the trouble (he still had not forgiven Gandalf for not telling him about Elrond).

"Farewell for the present, Gandalf," said Maedhros. "Once again we face a great lightlessness and you do nothing about it. Just like old times, I must say."

"Farewell, Adarngail. Once again I do my actual job rather than babysitting you elves. Not at all like old times," replied Gandalf.

Deep down, Maedhros would probably miss trading cutting remarks with Gandalf, but it would be nice to have the Maia out of his hair.

"One last thing," he whispered. "This darkness in the wood -- it feels like Þauron. Is that why you're leaving?"

"Perceptive. Yes, it is indeed."

And with a last reminder to stay on the path, the Company entered Mirkwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you're all staying safe!
> 
> please leave a comment and/or kudos :) they make my day!


	18. Sorrow-Spiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is, and is not, memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title is a creature from the video game Fallen London
> 
> i REALLY liked writing mirkwood, there is so much stuff that is just CRIMINALLY underused! also it's where we start getting the Really Specific Motifs that mae has very bad memories of
> 
> -the evil spiders and unlight and dark creepy stuff is way too reminiscent of the darkening of valinor, which involved an even bigger evil spider and more unlight  
> -when there weren't enough boats to cross to middle-earth all at once, feanor said they could take turns, and upon bringing his own people over he set the ships on fire so no one could follow them  
> -in some versions, mae's youngest brother amrod dies in the ship-burning. for the purposes of this story, he got hurt but didn't die. lightly toasted amrod.  
> -the taur-nu-fuin was an evil forest in beleriand, sauron was there sometimes  
> -the first kinslaying was an argument that got out of hand, the others were on purpose

Maedhros was getting an awful sense of déjà vu.

It wasn't the forest full of giant spiders, that was familiar and unpleasant, but not fearful. But the darkness, deeper than night or shadow, this _ unlight  _ \-- it was too much like the Darkening, and the most terrible fear he had ever felt.

When the path was interrupted by a stream, with only a single boat to cross it in (“That is  _ exactly _ how people die,” he whispered to himself), the memories of the worst day of his life reached up and overwhelmed him.

Maedhros fell to the forest floor in tears as he remembered it. The darkness, the fear, the sound of steel on steel, blood in the water and covering the deck and  _ on his hands _ , guilt he thought would keep him from repeating the crime but he'd done it all again twice more, the Doom weighing him down so much he could barely breathe, there weren't enough ships so they would go first and send the boats back but then the  _ fire _ \--

Bombur shook him. "Lad, we need to cross the river. Come on, then."

Maedhros stopped weeping to say, "I'm afraid I don't do well with boats. Especially in the dark like this."

"But we've got to cross. You and I are the last pair to go, so get up."

Maedhros wobbled to the edge of the river and saw Bifur and Bofur disembarking on the other side. Lost deep in memory, he fully expected Thorin to take out his tinderbox and set the boat aflame, but it did not happen. He nearly cried again, this time with relief, when it was sent back over.

Just as they were getting off the little boat after crossing, Bombur slipped. Maedhros caught him before hitting the water, but in doing so submerged his left arm up to the elbow. The moment after he arrived safely on land, he fainted.

* * *

Maedhros dreamed.

Stars wheeled overhead as time ran backwards, as years un-passed and fire un-burned, as wars were un-fought and lives were un-lost.

He saw in reverse the Shadow creeping into the Greenwood, the dragon in Erebor, the dwarves' flight from Khazad-Dûm and its Balrog, the fall and rise of Númenor, Maglor throwing his Silmaril into the sea. The War of Wrath, the destruction of Beleriand, the kinslayings, all undone.

Millennia unspooled before his eyes.

* * *

Maedhros awoke somewhere that was decidedly not Himring.

It was reminiscent of the descriptions he'd heard of Taur-nu-Fuin, but he had no reason to be there. Especially not with thirteen unfamiliar dwarves and a tiny Mannish-looking creature.

"Where am I?" he asked in Khuzdul, bringing his hand to his aching head. He noticed something. "And what happened to my left hand?"

The dwarves and the other creature looked concerned. One stepped up and said, in an unfamiliar language that Maedhros somehow understood, "I am Thorin, son of Thráin. You have been in contact with an enchanted river in the forest of Mirkwood that sent you to sleep, and may have jumbled your memories. How are you feeling?"

"Well met, Thorin. I am--" Thorin shushed him.

"Names are not always safe here, least of all yours," he whispered. "You have been calling yourself Adarngail Carorion. Have you lost your memories?"

"I believe so." Why would he go under a false name? Why was he calling himself "father of stars," and in Sindarin at that?

"Do not worry, we will get you up to speed as we walk," said Thorin. "As for your left hand, you held something that burned you very badly."

Balin started explaining to him what he had missed, including the existence of hobbits like Bilbo. "...and your children, now, Elros went off and founded the island nation of Númenor," he said, and Maedhros interrupted.

"Did I hear you correctly? I have children?" Who could he possibly have married?

"Yes, twin sons. Do you not remember? You adopted them. Well, I say 'adopted,' you said yourself it was more of a kidnapping and then you and your brother got attached."

'Brother,' singular? This whole tale grew stranger and stranger. And why would he have kidnapped two children? "I must admit, I'm rather confused. I do not recall having children."

"I only have your own account for reference, lad, but I'll do my best to explain. The way you told it, you and your brothers attacked some elvish settlement for one of those gems of yours, some of your brothers were killed, and the lady who had it threw herself into the ocean with it and turned into a bird."

Maedhros's blood ran cold. According to this dwarf, he had committed another kinslaying in the name of his Oath. He had killed elves, even after promising himself he never would again.

Balin continued, oblivious. "But her children were still there, so you and your last brother took them hostage. You ended up raising them, and they considered you their parents."

If he was capable of kinslaying, on purpose rather than in the heat of the moment, and taking children hostage -- possibly even turning their minds, for what else could cause them to call their captors parents -- what else was he willing to do? He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but asked, "What else can you tell me about what I did?"

"Little, I'm afraid," said Balin. "You don't like talking about your past, but you're awfully proud of your sons. I only know this much because you got drunk and tried to explain the political balance of Beleriand while we were staying with Beorn."

Maedhros was about to ask another question when the whole group walked into another patch of unlight. Maedhros could feel the shadow pulling at him, trying to eat away even the light his eyes gave off, and dizzily went for his sword.

And not a moment too soon, for it was then the spiders attacked.

Maedhros held them off as best he could, despite his disorientation, but one by one the Company got trussed up by the giant arachnids. Luckily, Bilbo, who had fallen behind, showed up in the nick of time with an insulting song to distract the spiders.

(Even when his full memory was restored later, the time spent in Mirkwood was only a hazy blur that seemed to last at once a single day and many years.

Suffice it to say, for now, he did not remember the fight with the spiders.)

But he did remember that Bilbo had found some sort of magical invisibility ring that everyone was very impressed with. "I'd like to take a look at it later," Maedhros said, not knowing why magic rings set off so many metaphorical alarm bells.

Such thoughts were put from his mind, though, when Dori cried that he saw lights in the distance.

Thorin said, "Then let us follow, for we are already far from the path, and I doubt if we could find it again even if we searched for days. The lights may mean elves, so be on your guard."

"Cover your hair, Adarngail," whispered Kíli.

Maedhros obeyed.

No one could say how long it took for them to reach the lights, but it was not soon when they reached the torchlit clearing they had espied. As the Company neared, the smell of food and the sounds of a revel drew them in incautiously, for they were hungry and joyless.

The clearing was full of wood-elves dressed in their finery, feasting and dancing, as enticing music played over the scene. Maedhros felt the urge to join in their revel as a physical pull, overwhelmed by the yearning to fall into the dance. Above it all an Elvenking presided from a throne of living wood, crowned by flowers and branches (the king was not one that Maedhros recognized on sight, but he looked rather Sindarin).

The Company entered the clearing as Thorin cleared his throat, saying, "Excuse us. We are a group of lost travellers, and--"

All of a sudden, the celebration ceased. The king stood with a cry of "Trespassers!" He motioned with his hand, and all the lights in the clearing went out, plunging it into shadow.

A moment later, Maedhros (and the dwarves) lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> memory loss notes:  
> -he got e&e in the 3rd kinslaying, his memories don't even include the 2nd  
> -his memories go up to pre-nirnaeth arnoediad, a big fight where like... everyone dies  
> -the rest of the kinslayings happened after that
> 
> also this chapter was commented in my notes as "hello my name is thranduil oropherion you homoerotically swordfought my father prepare to do an escape room" so do with that what you will
> 
> as always, please leave a comment and/or kudos!


	19. Drama / Thranduil Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros disappoints Thranduil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not a bunch to say about this chapter aside from that it was SUPER fun to write
> 
> silm notes:  
> -one time mae got captured by morgoth and hung on a mountain for ~30 years. also morgoth is terrifying  
> -thranduil's father oropher was from doriath, which was the victim of the second kinslaying, and they were probably both nearby for the third one even if they weren't there

Maedhros awoke. He was still not in Himring. Apparently he really had lost his memory.

He opened his eyes and found himself in a great room in a cave-palace, lit by torches and candles and a single tiny skylight. On a throne lounged the Elvenking, with the shaft of light from outside artfully falling on his face. The dwarves of the Company awoke alongside him, displeased.

Oh, and all of them had their hands (or arms, as the case may be) bound.

Maedhros supposed he'd been in worse situations. A few weeks of hunger weren't so long, really, and he'd knelt before far more terrible thrones. A voice jolted him from his thoughts, and the dwarves from their grumbling.

"Well, well!" said the woodland king in Sindarin. "Maedhros Fëanorion! I never thought I'd see the day."

He heard a faint "Well, there goes secrecy," coming from Bifur's direction upon hearing his name spoken.

Maedhros said, likewise in Sindarin, "Greetings, your majesty."

The king (who looked rather like Oropher, now that Maedhros thought about it) raised an eyebrow. "Is that all you have to say for yourself, kinslayer?"

Strange. The usual derogatory term for Noldor was some sort of reference to their exile, as quite a few of them were born in Beleriand and hadn't committed any crimes, but all were barred from Valinor. "I would say more if I but remembered you. I'm afraid my memories have been lost, or so my companions tell me. I do not recall your face -- are you kin to Oropher of Doriath? You look much like him." Maedhros had only met Oropher in passing, but it seemed a good place to start.

The king froze for an almost imperceptible moment. "I am Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm. You very nearly killed my father once. Tell me, where do your memories leave off?"

He had done  _ what _ ? Why would he have tried to kill someone he didn't even know? The dwarves had told him he'd committed another kinslaying, but surely not at Doriath, for that realm was protected. As for his memories, Maedhros didn't want this "Thranduil" prying into his business, but in someone else's kingdom one had to be polite.

"The year 471," he said. A thought struck him. "Do you know why my left hand is burned?"

"I do," said Thranduil, walking over to Maedhros, who tried to pull away on instinct. "But let's see if I can help you _ remember _ ." He placed a hand on Maedhros's head and summoned his magic.

Maedhros cried out as a memory hit him, of his sword ringing out against Oropher's twin blades, and once again (this was becoming a pattern) he fell unconscious.

* * *

Thranduil huffed.  _ "I do not recall your face," _ indeed! He wasn't forgettable in any way, not back then and certainly not now.

He'd chosen the perfect outfit and crown, lit the room so he had a shaft of light falling onto his eyes, moved anything that might muffle the acoustics, and made sure the guards looked just as flawless as he did.

And Maedhros hadn't had the context to appreciate it.

What was the _ point _ of all the glamour if he couldn't guilt trip Maedhros for his crimes and get a little harmless revenge?

Thranduil wasn't going to  _ hurt _ him, obviously; he'd suffered plenty and it would make Elrond upset. Thranduil rather saw Elrond as a younger brother and wanted him to be happy. If that weren't enough, he'd contacted Thranduil via ósanwe to warn him of the Company and their intent to pass through the Greenwood, and asked Thranduil to let them do so.

(Having a kinslayer and a bunch of dwarves in his kingdom was annoying but bearable. Having a kinslayer and some dwarves in his kingdom  _ without warning _ would have been much worse.)

And Thranduil would let them go… after a little fun. Even if Maedhros was ruining his drama by having fallen victim to the Enchanted River.

Memories tended to return soon enough after an encounter with the river, but hopefully he'd sped it along a bit. He didn't have cause to do the memory-fixing magic often, as the people of the Woodland Realm were, of course, exempt from all of Thranduil's numerous enchantments.

The dwarves, still sitting bound on the floor, grew angry.

"What have you done to him?" growled one.

Thranduil laughed. "Simply helped him recall a few things. Now, you have trespassed in my kingdom and disturbed our festivities, even bringing a thrice-accursed kinslayer into the realm. Unless you have a very good reason, I'm afraid you shall have to be imprisoned along with him."

By some unspoken agreement, the thirteen dwarves stubbornly shut their mouths. Apparently dwarves only shut up when you actually wanted them to speak.

Thranduil sighed. At least he could salvage this part of the beautifully dramatic scene he'd set up. "Very well, then. Guards, take them to the dungeons until they are ready to talk."

The dwarves struggled, but the guards hauled them away to separate prison cells.

Thranduil poured himself a glass of water and sat back down. Those annoying visitors would be out of his gorgeous hair soon enough -- he'd told the guards beforehand to take them to the training dungeons, where people practiced their puzzle-solving and prison-breaking skills. The  _ actual _ dungeons were in the opposite direction.

He drank the water, then got up to return the room to its original state. He rolled up his sleeves and started moving tables back in from the hallway while mentally planning his next visit to Imladris. Now that his appearance was unlikely to cause Elrond to burst into tears, young Ríros could have the chance to go along (accompanied by his mothers Orchal and Cordovel to keep him out of trouble, of course).

He'd carried three of the four long tables in and arranged them when he heard a voice and some familiar light footsteps. "Ada?" called the voice.

"I'm in the great hall, Legolas," he replied.

A moment later, Legolas popped his head into the room. "There you are! Do you need help with the tables?"

"That would be lovely, thank you, little leaf."

Legolas hefted the last table and carried it in. "How was your meeting? I saw they had to carry the elf who looks like Ríros down to the training dungeon."

"He ran afoul of the Enchanted River and didn't remember me, unfortunately. Could you check in on him when he wakes up and see what he remembers?"

"Sure! He's Uncle Elrond's dad, right? The one he said was coming?" Legolas asked while he started returning chairs to their rightful places.

Thranduil hummed in affirmation. "Yes. Thank goodness he made it to the party we were having, though, I was starting to worry."

"Oh, I almost forgot! We sighted his brother skirting the northern edge of the forest. We're keeping an eye on him in case he needs help."

"Good idea. Which way is he heading?"

"Eastwards."

A smile crept across Thranduil's face. "Well, we shan't interfere, then. They'll meet each other soon enough." By now, the room was mostly back in order. Thranduil dusted his hands off. "I need to look at preparations for the Feast of Starlight. Hopefully our guests will have escaped by then, but if not we'll need a contingency plan to make sure they sneak off during the party."

Legolas nodded. "I'll come up with something."

"You're very good at thinking of challenges for the practice dungeon. I have no doubt you'll figure out a perfect plan, little leaf," said Thranduil, ruffling his son's hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> legolas cameo!  
> yes he and thranduil are just lifting giant tables on their own. gotta be buff to live in mirkwood
> 
> please leave a comment and/or kudos if you liked it!


	20. No Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros does not escape the dungeons of Mirkwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been 3 days, you know what that means! new chapter!
> 
> silm notes:  
> -amon ereb was a feanorian fortress, and a reasonable place for everybody to have ended up after the third kinslaying. for this story, that was where e&e were raised  
> -the breaking of thangorodrim: earendil killed a giant dragon in his sky boat, and it fell and crushed the mountains that were morgoth's greatest defense, and morgoth was defeated soon after  
> -thranduil would def speak doriathrin sindarin given his upbringing and who he is as a person, but legolas was raised among silvans and speaks their dialect as well as his dad's, but mae wouldn't recognize it

Maedhros awoke somewhere that was decidedly not Amon Ereb.

In fact, it was some sort of prison cell, from what he could gather without moving and revealing that he was awake. Not surprising. What was surprising was that his arms weren't bound.

His immediate instinct said that this place was Doriath, based on the style of the room, but that was impossible for obvious reasons. There was a distinctly non-makeshift quality about the place that seemed, for lack of a better word,  _ inconsistent _ with the state of the settlements in Beleriand.

Maedhros didn't know how he'd gotten here. The last thing he remembered was the breaking of Thangorodrim and subsequently packing the children's belongings so they could return to their real father (tears had been involved). They were meant to leave in the morning--

Where were the twins? If someone had come in and captured him, by magicking him to sleep or some such, what had they done with his children and Maglor? And what had happened to his left hand?

He was starting to panic and put in a conscious effort to calm down. Maglor was probably in another cell, and their sons protected in the custody of whatever elves held them. Elros and Elrond were smart enough to play the "traumatized hostages" card to keep themselves safe.

_ Think. _ There was something dreamlike in his memory, someone saying  _ "Let's see if I can help you remember," _ and he could just barely put a name to that faint face: Thranduil Oropherion.

Maedhros wouldn't be able to find out anything else without moving. He sat up.

Outside the cell, a young-looking elf stood up. "You're awake!" he noted cheerfully in a strange dialect of Sindarin. "Do you remember anything new?"

That was… much more friendly a greeting than Maedhros had expected. "I'm not sure," he said cautiously. "Where are m-- the twins?" He corrected himself. He didn't know how this elf would react to him claiming the children as his own sons.

The elf furrowed his brows. "Which twins? Wait, what year is it for you?"

"It's the year 587, and I meant the peredhel twins that were with me." Why was he being asked about the year? And there had only ever been one set of twins around at a time. With every moment that passed, he grew more worried. They had all been in the same place. If this elf didn't know who he was talking about, that boded ill.

The stranger's expression cleared. "Alright. It's been a long time since then, but you lost some memories in an incident with an enchanted river. My father, King Thranduil, tried to speed up your recovery, but it knocked you out and doesn't seem to have worked entirely."

So Thranduil Oropherion  _ was _ around here, and in charge, too. No wonder Maedhros was in prison.

"How did I get here?"

"You were traveling with a company of thirteen dwarves through our forest and trespassed on a gathering of our people. Ada sent you to the dungeon when none of you would say what you were doing here." The elf winced. "And he might have a bit of a grudge. Sorry. I'm Legolas, by the way. I brought you some food," he said, pulling a tray from a shelf.

Maedhros inclined his head. "Pleasure to meet you. I'd introduce myself, but I think I'm recognizable enough." That got a smile out of Legolas. "Not to change the subject, but do you know what happened to my left hand?"

Legolas shrugged. "It's the year 2941 of the Third Age now, it’s been a long time since that happened. I don't know the specifics, few do, and I'm not much of a scholar. Whatever you did was described to me as 'extremely inadvisable and desperate,' and that was  _ Elrond _ saying it. He's your  _ son _ and he still thinks it was unforgivably stupid."

That meant whatever he did could be pretty much anything. But Elrond was alive, judging by the present tense, and known to be Maedhros's son at least in some circles. "So how long are we going to be here?"

"Until one of the dwarves tells Ada why you crashed the party, I assume. It might be longer for you; you're not exactly everyone's favorite person."

So, forever, then. Understandable.

Legolas seemed to remember something. "Oh, I have to go tell Ada you're awake! I'll see you later," he said and hurried off.

Maedhros sat back down to eat.

Well, there were worse places to spend eternity, and he couldn't feel the Oath anymore, so he wouldn't be forced to hurt anyone else or escape. His memories should come back in time.

Maybe Elrond would come visit him once in a while.

Maedhros could live with this.

* * *

Five days later, while amusing himself with the puzzles in his cell to keep from trying to figure out the fire-filled moments he had recently recalled, Maedhros heard footsteps with no discernable source.

He blinked and shook his head. No, the quiet sound really was right in front of him, but there was nobody there.

Until a tiny creature appeared out of thin air and said, "Adarngail! Thank goodness, I wasn't sure I'd be able to find you!" in a language Maedhros understood despite not recognizing it.

He'd gathered, from clues gleaned during Legolas's visits, that he had been traveling under a false name. Apparently that false name was 'Adarngail.' Rather appropriate, in his opinion.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The creature stared, open-mouthed, for a moment before speaking. "I'm Bilbo Baggins. Don't tell me you've forgotten me again!"

"I suppose I must have. What are you doing here?"

"I managed not to get caught by the elves. I already found the rest of the Company, but you're a little ways away from them. I'm working on breaking you out," said Bilbo with a hopeful smile.

"That's kind of you," said Maedhros, "but I intend to remain here. The dwarves may be unjustly imprisoned, but I am not."

"What? Doesn't matter. We have a quest to see through, and you're part of it. And isn't being indoors all the time bad for elves?"

Maedhros sighed. "As I said, if you wish to to escape with the dwarves, go ahead. I have been arrested for a crime I definitely committed. They're treating me very kindly, considering. I cannot even remember what our quest  _ is, _ let alone continue it in good conscience."

"You know what, I think I'll go tell the others I found you," said Bilbo, giving up. "But I will be back, and you had better reconsider your opinion on escape."

The hobbit (as Maedhros's memory finally deigned to tell him what manner of creature Bilbo was) turned invisible again and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the idea of mae refusing to escape what he thinks of as a completely just imprisonment for eternity actually inspired one of my current WIPs, the Jailbird AU, where Maglor gets arrested towards the end of the Second Age and just kinda... stays there, singing and providing cryptic advice. it's already at 20k rip
> 
> anyway please leave a comment and/or kudos!!!


	21. Bilbo and the Barrels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is, eventually, an escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone!
> 
> this is a double fic update day, i just updated my new fic Lords of Amon Ereb (it's about Elrond and Elros and i'm really proud of it so far) so please check that out!
> 
> also, this is bookverse, but there's a short tauriel cameo bc she inspired ríros and anyway the world needs more elf/dwarf pairs lol
> 
> silm notes:  
> -after the defeat of morgoth, the herald of the valar was like "come back to valinor and stand trial" and mae didn't do that. he stole the silmarils instead, which burned him and led to the lava thing  
> -i've seen people use "iron hells" as a swear in silmfic and i really like it. it refers to morgoth's stronghold of angband where mae was once imprisoned

True to his word, Bilbo returned in two days. Maedhros had just finished talking to Legolas, who had encouraged him to do more of the puzzles.

"I'm back," said Bilbo. "Have you changed your mind?"

"No. From what I've been told, I refused to face justice once and it ended badly for everyone. This is a second chance, such as it is, to do what's right."

Bilbo huffed, exasperated already. "Whatever you did can't be all  _ that _ bad. We stayed a week at Master Elrond's house and he didn't arrest you."

...That was new information. Nonetheless, "He should have. He just has a soft spot for me because I knew him as a child," said Maedhros calmly. Internally, though, he worried. If word got out that Elrond hadn't jailed him, that could put him in a difficult political situation.

But if his son decided that this quest was worth the repercussions for letting him go, Maedhros would have to trust that in the absence of his memories. For Elrond to have made that call, the goal must be important indeed.

With that in mind, he said, "Be that as it may, I suppose I will trust Elrond's judgement in this matter. Tell me about this quest of ours, and I will think about it."

Bilbo looked relieved. "We're trying to reclaim the dwarves' old home of the Lonely Mountain from a dragon that took it over. King Thorin is our leader, and we were traveling with a wizard, Gandalf, until recently."

Maedhros's mind conjured the image of Olórin looking like an old man in response to that. What?

If both Elrond and a  _ Maia  _ were knowingly letting him go free, despite the political consequences and all of his crimes, the dragon situation must be dire. Certainly a point in favor of escaping.

Bilbo continued. "There's a secret entrance to the mountain, and the clue's on a map that Master Elrond helped us read. Thorin said to tell you there's also some sort of shining gem in the mountain. It's called the Arkenstone, and he said it's part of the reason you came along."

Oh, iron  _ hells. _

There was a Silmaril in that mountain. No wonder he had joined the quest! Even if the Oath no longer bound him, and he couldn't feel it pulling, it was probably his responsibility to fix whatever damage it would cause, and he had no doubt there would be trouble. Elrond and Olórin wouldn't want a repeat of the First Age, and they could portray his going on the quest as some form of making amends.

Maedhros faintly wondered how the jewel had gotten there in the first place -- if he wasn't bound to seek it out, he must have fulfilled or successfully broken the Oath. And if he had fulfilled it, how did one of the Silmarils end up on another continent?

(Legolas had explained to him that their current location was several mountain ranges east of Beleriand which, incidentally, no longer existed.)

His path was clear. "I will escape with you," he said. "I will return here after, to serve my sentence. But if what you say is true, then I must go to the mountain."

Bilbo smiled. "Good! If only I'd known a shiny rock would snap you out of it, I'd have found one outside and brought it to you."

Maedhros’s lips quirked at that. "Do you have a plan?"

"Not yet, but the kingdom is having a great feast in two weeks. I know how to get the keys, and we shall be able to slip out while the wood-elves are busy," said Bilbo.

“Then I shall wait. Tell our leader I shall accompany this quest.”

Bilbo had a moment of silent celebration before saying, “I’ll come back when it’s time to go. Farewell for now, Adarngail!”

* * *

The weeks passed by quickly. A few more memories returned, most of them of various forms of fire and burning. Legolas spoke of the festival and how excited he was.

“I won’t be able to visit you on the day of,” he said apologetically. “It’s a very busy time.”

Maedhros nodded in understanding.

Before he knew it, the feast day arrived.

His only warning was the now-familiar sound of disembodied footsteps before Bilbo hissed, “Come on! Grab anything you might need, and let’s go!” as he unlocked the door with stolen keys.

Maedhros was up like a shot, grabbing the cloth full of food he had put by over the two weeks (quite a bit, as the wood-elves believed in feeding people well even if they were prisoners). “Do you think we can get our weapons?” he asked as he stepped out of the cell. “We must have brought some.”

“Yes, the dwarves are getting them,” said Bilbo, leading him down the hall. “I have a plan.”

They met up with the dwarves in what appeared to be a wine cellar and exchanged both weapons and introductions.

Bilbo coughed to shut them up. “Ahem. Now that I have your attention, do you see these barrels on this platform?” He gestured to a group of barrels in the back of the room. “If you fit, get in one.”

The dwarves confusedly did so.

“What’s the point of this?” asked Nori.

“The elves send these barrels down the river to Esgaroth by pulling this lever. It drops everything on that bit of floor into the water. It won’t be comfortable, but we’ll be out.” Bilbo climbed into a barrel of his own. “The scheduled time is in a few minutes.”

“What about me?” asked Maedhros, who was far too large to fit in any kind of barrel, even if he used a contortionist’s tricks.

“You,” said Bilbo, slightly muffled, “will hide behind the barrels and hold onto the little wooden raft that’s sitting back there. When we drop down, you can get on the raft.”

Maedhros obeyed.

Just as Bilbo said, some elves came in and pulled the lever, sending the Company plummeting into the river below as the elves sang a barrel-song. Miraculously, none of them cried out.

Maedhros pulled himself onto the raft. It was a small thing, not meant to carry a rider down the whitewater rapids it faced, but he clutched to it as best he could. The dwarves and Bilbo were jostled around considerably in their barrels; there had been little to cushion with.

But they had escaped!

Soon the trees thinned out and a lake became visible over the horizon. A picturesque bridge spanned the river at the edge of the forest, which was alright, and the bridge had an elf on it, which was not.

But the elf raised no alarm. Instead, the red-headed elf called, “Safe travels!” to the bewildered Company.

“Ríros? I thought you were going to the Gray Havens!” said Maedhros, as memory came rushing back.

“I’m his sister, Tauriel! He’s told me a lot about you!” she said with a laugh and a wave down to them. “Goodbye, Kíli!”

Kíli waved back with a blush on his face as they went down the river.

Maedhros barely noticed because his memories, which had returned in full force, led him to a rather irksome conclusion. “King Thranduil was only playing with us!” he exclaimed. “He meant for us to escape all along, and was just being dramatic in sending us to prison!”

The dwarves appeared to be too motion-sick to join in his complaining, but he heard angry growls from some of the barrels. They were all jostled around for a time, but every bend in the river brought the sight of Erebor nearer.

Turning a final corner, they bobbed on through a set of gates to the Long Lake, and there lay Esgaroth.

After a few minutes of wonderment from the Company at having their destination in sight, Bifur said, “So, does anyone know how we’re supposed to get out of these?”

No one had an answer. Luckily, the gentle waves of the lake saw fit to deposit the fourteen barrel-riders (and one raft-rider) on a nearby bank where they could clamber onto dry land and breathe a sigh of relief.

“What now?” said Bilbo. “The Lonely Mountain is right over there, but I’d feel better for a good meal before we go.”

“We don’t want any wood-elves who might be around to know we escaped, so we ought to be discreet. Even if Thranduil  _ was _ only playing with us,” said Kíli.

“Let us go into town, then,” said Thorin. “We will make no pronouncements of our purpose, but pass through as travelers and get some rest.”

They gathered themselves together and trudged towards Laketown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap for today :)
> 
> please leave a comment and kudos! (no "or" this time, i'm gonna be transparent and ask for both)


	22. Another Anfauglith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we approach Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are only six chapters after this one! how'd that happen?
> 
> hope you're all staying safe and wearing masks when you go out!
> 
> silm notes:  
> -anfauglith was an area that used to be nice plains but got turned to dust by dragons  
> -caranthir was mae's econ major brother, haleth was a human woman. i think they would be cute together. also my caranthir does embroidery like his grandmother was famous for  
> -mae's boat trauma makes another appearance  
> -fingolfin (mae's uncle, elrond's great great grandpa) challenged morgoth to single combat after seeing dragons wreck his whole life, and he died  
> -the only elf who canonically killed a dragon was earendil and he's a half-elf

Laketown was… nice.

It wasn't a bad place, not at all, but Maedhros was never at ease around boats, and he'd had more than his share of flashbacks in Mirkwood. And it was far too easy to picture Laketown and all its barges burning -- a distinct possibility, what with the dragon.

But they found an inn to stay the night, and avoided all two of the visiting elves.

The innkeeper was the sort of person to mind their own business for the most part, aside from the moderate amount of nosiness essential for such a job. But they seemed curious about the Company, for they had probably never seen elves and dwarves work together even grudgingly, and here Maedhros was calling them his friends. And hobbits were little more than a rumor east of the Misty Mountains.

All this is to say that they came up to Maedhros during dinner to interrogate him.

“Bit of a strange group you’re traveling with,” said the innkeeper. “How did it come about?”

Maedhros waved away the question. Luckily, they had come up with a cover story. “Friends of mine from the Ered Luin, and a hobbit who wanted to sightsee. Came to get a look at their homeland of Erebor before heading on to the Iron Hills.” But honestly, couldn’t they have named those hills  _ anything _ else?

“That explains them, but not you,” they said.

“I came to keep them safe; some of the dwarves are young enough that I knew them as babies. It isn’t safe to travel alone.”

The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. “I’d hardly call them  _ alone _ in a group of fourteen. And I’ve seen elves travel by themselves before, certainly. Why, one passed through just the other day, all alone.”

“Unwise, in times like these. Perhaps they were an optimist,” said Maedhros. “Or overconfident. They tend to be the same thing.”

At that point, the innkeeper was called away, which made Maedhros relieved. He wasn’t quite up to small talk at present.

But he was curious by nature. “So, Kíli,” he said, “what was that with Tauriel?”

Kíli’s face slowly turned bright red. “We got to talking, during those three weeks in the palace. She did some of those logic puzzles with me, and she’s very good at them.”

Maedhros grinned. This was adorable. The last time he’d seen an elf try to court someone using logic and mathematics, it had been his brother Caranthir (Haleth hadn’t found that particularly romantic, so Caranthir had turned to embroidery, which she had declared an acceptable courting gift). But this time it appeared to be working.

Kíli continued, “I don’t know her all that well, but do you think… Once we retake Erebor, do you think she’d like if we got to know each other better?” He fidgeted.

“From her goodbye to you on the bridge, I’d say so. Even if she’s not looking for romance, I think you’d get along quite well as friends or as a partnered pair.”

Kíli blushed harder.

* * *

A few days later, they set off for the Lonely Mountain. The dwarves were practically vibrating with excitement, and Bilbo appeared to have gotten caught up in it, too. Maedhros was more subdued, but then, he was less emotionally attached to Erebor and had developed great caution as a result of his life up to that point. But every step away from Laketown and its city of boats left him feeling a little better.

Unfortunately, every step away from Esgaroth was also a step closer to the Desolation and the ruin of Dale, like Anfauglith, which used to be Ard-Galen, all over again. Plains turned to dustland by dragons were all very much the same.

“Listen to me,” he said when they came close enough to Erebor to see its gates. “No one, and I mean no one, is to bang on the gates and challenge Smaug to direct combat. That is both a recorded reaction that folk have had to seeing dragon ruins, and  _ exactly _ how people die.”

“Who was it?” said Nori.

“Because-- sorry, what?” he asked, nonplussed.

“Who was it?” repeated Bombur. “You only say that if you’ve seen it happen.”

“And you say it all the time,” said Ori.

“...It was Elrond’s great-great-grandfather. Well, it wasn’t a dragon that he challenged, but I think the principle still stands. He, predictably enough, was killed rather horribly. So kindly do not try it.”

Bilbo looked a little green.

Maedhros did his best to comfort him. “Don’t fret, Bilbo. We’re going to avoid waking Smaug at all costs.”

“It’s not that,” said Bilbo, shaking his head. “It’s only -- doesn’t it make you lose hope that you can ever win? Having seen so many people die?”

“It does,” said Maedhros, startled into complete honesty by the hobbit’s questions. “In the face of such a history of defeat, and knowing the details of each and every one, it is hard not to lose hope. But in every tale of wicked dragons, they are slain in the end by a brave soul who declares that they shall do no more evil. We have simply not reached the end of this one yet.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re an elf, you have forever.”

Maedhros laughed gently. “Did you know, no elf has ever successfully slain a dragon?”

“Really?” That was Kíli, who seemed fascinated.

“Really. Beaten them back, yes, or helped to defeat them, but never killed one. Unless you count the Evening Star, and even he is half-mortal. So you all have a better chance than I do at killing Smaug once and for all.” He smiled. ”And anyway, dragons were created for killing elves, not dwarves or hobbits. You are not in his skillset.”

It wasn’t exactly reassuring, but it was the best he could do. Fortunately, Bilbo and the others seemed to accept it.

He continued. “And from the horror of death and evil can goodness grow, stronger than ever before, and this I know firsthand.” In truth, Maedhros was thinking of his terrible deeds that had led indirectly to Morgoth’s defeat, and his children, too, raised by murderers but growing into the most wonderful people in Arda. But he did not voice these thoughts for fear of crying, and chose instead to say, “Just think! Had Smaug never attacked, we would not have met you, Master Baggins! And such a fate does not bear thinking on.”

Bilbo smiled at that, and the Company made its way up the western slopes of Erebor to seek the secret door.

It took time and much effort to clamber up the mountainside, of course, and Maedhros spent most of it lifting people to where they needed to go, and immediately following that by scrambling up as best he could given the state of his hands (one badly scarred, the other magicked but prosthetic).

But at long last, late at night, they reached the indicated point.

“Tomorrow is Durin’s Day,” said Óin. “So tomorrow at sunset should the light shine upon the keyhole where the secret passage is; that’s what the runes said.”

And sure enough, a thrush bird pecked at the stone at the appointed time the next evening, and the light of the sunset illuminated the place for the key.

Thorin opened the door. “There,” he said, breathless with wonder. “Erebor. At last have we come to our ancestral home, shown the way on the day of celebration for our ancestor Durin, one of the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves. We, Durin’s folk, once again look upon the Lonely Mountain that shall once again be ours, after a journey of a thousand perils and much of both good fortune and ill.”

He went on for a time. His sentences, if they were written out, would have had an average of five commas each. Maedhros kept track.

The dwarves were choked up with both dust and tears at seeing their long-abandoned home, though all they could see of it was an empty passageway.

“Right then. Bilbo, it is your time now,” Thorin said.

Bilbo looked nervous. “You could have just said so, Thorin. Such a speech was hardly necessary, and it does not make me feel better about going in first and alone. What must I do?”

“Go inside stealthily, for you are our burglar, blessed with great luck as we have seen on our quest so far, and find the dragon’s weakness. And if you can, steal back the Arkenstone, the King’s Jewel, a white gem which glows with light of a thousand colors--”

Maedhros felt the need to interrupt there. “But pick it up with a handkerchief, just in case.”

Thorin nodded. “Good fortune go with you, burglar.”

“There, you see? Sometimes a few words will suffice,” said Bilbo, who rather liked Thorin Oakenshield for the most part but took issue with the way he went on. “I think good fortune  _ will _ go with me. I’ll be back before you know it.” With one last look back, Bilbo entered Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes we have another kiliel cameo here, solving logic puzzles together is a love language don't @ me
> 
> please leave a comment and/or kudos :)


	23. Bilbo Interlude / Maglor Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two thieves meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this is the chapter i'm most proud of in this ENTIRE fic
> 
> graveyard scene? fun. mirkwood? great. but this is my fave okay
> 
> explanation of maglor's riddle is in the endnotes :)
> 
> silm notes:  
> -mags is doing osanwe, which is basically elf telepathy. criminally underused in lotr/hobbit fic in my opinion  
> -dragons can hypnotize people! implied in the hobbit, explicit in silm and children of hurin  
> -ancalagon and glaurung were dragons from the first age that were awful  
> -mags ALSO has boat trauma  
> -morgoth was sauron's boss who invented dragons, total bastard, he got yeeted into the Void 3 years after mae threw himself into the lava

This was terrifying.

Bilbo crept down the corridor, which was growing steadily warmer, as his mind came up with a litany of excuses not to do this. After all, what did a hobbit know about dragons? He wasn’t even really a burglar, never mind that he had broken the rest of the Company out of prison. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t have such a disrespectable Tookish streak in him. What would the neighbors think, when he got back? Assuming he made it out alive, of course.

Slowly he became aware of a great rumbling sound, like… he didn’t have a way to describe it; nothing he had ever heard came close.

_ It must be the dragon snoring, _ he thought.  _ At least I hope so, for that would mean he’s asleep. _

Bilbo was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice that he'd come to the upper gallery of the great hall, but there was no mistaking the dragon.

Smaug lay on a great pile of gold and gems, seemingly asleep. All around him were collected the vast treasures of the Kingdom of Erebor, whether dug from stone or lovingly crafted, and Bilbo for the first time  _ understood _ the lure of gold. He desired nothing more than a piece of this treasure, recklessly he wanted it, though it would wake the dragon.

Bilbo shook himself. He had a job to do, and he mustn't get distracted. Perhaps he could find Smaug's weakness if he got a closer look.

The dragon belched a bit of flame and turned onto his back.

On the other hand, perhaps looking for the Arkenstone should come first.

So Bilbo snuck through the halls, checking every room for signs of a beautiful glowing gem. Thorin's description turned out to be remarkably unhelpful.

In the corridors by the great hall, Bilbo crashed into something.

"Sorry," he said on reflex (he often ended up apologizing to coat racks and trees).

"My apologies," came the reply from what he had bumped into.

Bilbo was shocked into silence for a moment. He looked up to see an elf.

This elf had dark hair, and gray eyes that looked rather like Adarngail's. But unlike any other elves Bilbo had met, this one was dressed in ragged clothing and wrapped in a threadbare cloak.

"Not to be rude," said Bilbo, still not quite understanding what was in front of him, "but what are you doing here? I wasn't expecting to see anyone else here."

"I'm looking for something. Not to take it or anything, don't worry, I know better than to steal," said the elf. "But who are you to be in Erebor? I have never seen a hobbit so far from the Shire."

"I'm Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, pleasure to meet you," said Bilbo with a bow.

There was an awkward pause as Bilbo waited for the elf to introduce himself. Upon seeing that the elf needed promoting, he said, "And yourself?"

The elf jolted, as if surprised. "I am… Adarngail. Son of Caror."

Bilbo knew it was rude, but he couldn't help a bit of a laugh. "No, you're not. I've met Adarngail Carorion, and you're not him."

"Wait, what?" said 'Adarngail.'

"I said, I've _ met _ him. Unreasonably tall, red hair, lots of scars, prosthetic hand."

With each word, 'Adarngail' paled. "No, it can't be, that's impossible--"

He was cut off by a sound from the Great Hall. Smaug was awake.

* * *

Maglor… did not know what was going on. He had gone up the eastern side of Erebor, climbing onto the lowest battlements and going into the mountain proper. He had already spent several days searching in vain to get a glimpse of the Arkenstone (he very much hoped it was not a Silmaril so he could leave and stop fretting about it).

And now a  _ hobbit _ of all creatures was trying to burgle the mountain at the same time as him! He had heard the rumors in the Shire and outside Imladris, of course, but that was a far cry from actually seeing a little gentlehobbit in a dragon's mountain.

The false name was spur-of-the-moment. Bilbo surely would not have recognized his real name if he gave it, and could he really not come up with anything better than a reference to two children who (correctly, he reminded himself) hated him? No one who would take issue with it would ever know, true, but it felt wrong to name himself so. At least his chosen patronymic was accurate, and worked for his mother as well.

But when Bilbo claimed to already know someone with that name, who apparently looked a great deal like Maedhros, Maglor started to feel as if he were dreaming. It had to be someone else, obviously, but this whole situation was unreal. Here he was, chasing down a rumor in a dwarven mountain infested by a dragon, speaking to a hobbit who knew another bearer of his made-up name that looked like his long-dead brother.

At this point, the Arkenstone might as well  _ be _ a Silmaril. It could hardly make anything stranger.

(Privately, he found himself hoping that it really  _ was _ him, though he did not wish to get his hopes up. “Adarngail Carorion” was just as accurate a name for Maedhros as for himself, though in a backhanded way that ignored the opinions of the “stars” themselves. Neither of them were deserving of the title of father to the twins, even in some other world where they had been better and the children somehow hadn’t despised them.)

But the dragon awoke at their voices, cutting Maglor’s train of thought short. He pushed Bilbo behind a column and hid himself so Smaug would not be able to see them. With any luck, he would go right back to sleep.

But luck was rarely on the side of a son of Fëanor.

Smaug stirred, and sat up, and sniffed the air.

Maglor spoke into Bilbo’s mind.  _ Do not speak aloud, _ he said.  _ But listen. _

Bilbo caught his eye and nodded.

_ If he figures out that we are here, we shall have to speak to him. And dragons must be spoken to in riddles, as I assume you know. But no matter what, do not look into his eyes, for he can easily bespell those who make eye contact. _

Bilbo seemed to know how dragons worked, by his slightly exasperated nod.

_ I shall try to sing him to sleep for long enough for us to get out. But if he becomes angry, he will burn Laketown in his fury, because destruction is the only thing that calms dragons, and Dale is already gone. You must warn them and evacuate. _

Bilbo indicated his understanding with yet another nod, this one determined.

And Smaug spoke. “What are you doing in my mountain? I smell you, thief.” He sniffed the air again and amended, “Thieves, in fact. There are two of you. I smell an elf, but what is the other?”

Maglor said, “Thief I have been, but I intend no theft of your treasure, scion of Glaurung.”

“The elf knows his history, I see! But once a thief, always a thief. And your companion has yet to explain themself.”

Bilbo swallowed and riddled about himself as best he could as Maglor edged towards the entrance he had taken, through which he could hopefully flee. Bilbo caused Smaug to show his belly which, while encrusted with treasure for the most part, had a rather obvious weak spot. Maglor said nothing of it, he knew by Bilbo’s sudden cutoff that he had seen it.

Maglor picked up the flattery when the hobbit stopped. “Smaug, foremost of the kin of Ancalagon the wingèd one, I am but a lone elf, old and weak! What harm may I do you? Allow us to go, and sing of your greatness to the people in the lands below.”

“I do not believe I will. And who are you, elf?”

Luckily, he was an elf of many contradictions. “O Smaug, I am older even than you! Perhaps older than this mountain! I am second, and yet I am last of many. I have no children, and yet I have two, and yet I have only one. I have stolen much of greater worth than the whole of Erebor put together. I am a ghost, and yet I live. Elf I am, yet my son-who-is-not-my-son is mortal. I am the father of stars, the son of a creator. I am called cleaver of gold, but I work not metal. Tell me who I am, dragon. Speak my name!” To Bilbo, he said,  _ I will sing to him. Go, run! _

Bilbo ran away, as silently as any elf. Maglor pressed himself up against the back of a column, praying not to be seen.

Smaug chuckled as Bilbo ran, distracted by the new riddle. “There are elves older than I, though most are gone, and this mountain is a young one. It is easy to have several children and yet none, if they are dead or sailed, and elves may foster mortals, though ‘tis rare. What could be worth more than all of Erebor? Nothing, but I suspect there is some elvish riddle there about love or starlight. But ghost and gold-cleaver, there is only one thing such an old elf could desire in this mountain! A gem shining with inner light. I know your name,  _ Maglor son of Fëanor. _ ”

Maglor shuddered to hear his name spoken by this creature of Morgoth, but said nothing. He covered his mouth and tried not to move, though his instincts begged him to run and the dragon’s spell drew him closer.

“I will kill you, little thief, for thief you are. And I shall burn Laketown and its people; I shall set boats and cities and people afire as you once did, and you may know it is your fault.”

Maglor knew the dragon was only trying to hurt him, and it was working. But he had gotten Bilbo clear, and he still had his voice.

Maglor sang.

It was not a lullaby he had ever sung to a child, but a battle song that made his enemies fall asleep in droves. It had no title as such, but the general idea was “Fall Unconscious Now Or I Will Hit You Until You Do,” which was a bad name but made for surprisingly good lyrics.

Smaug obeyed and fell asleep.

Maglor kept singing as he rushed for the exit, hoping against hope that it would last long enough for him to warn the Lake-men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> riddle explanation:  
> -mags was the second son of feanor and nerdanel, but he thinks he's the last one still living  
> -e&e aren't _actually_ his kids, and elros is both mortal and dead  
> -using the meaning of "adarngail carorion" again  
> -maglor's quenya name from his mother ("makalaure") means "gold-cleaver" and it refers to his musicianship  
> -his riddle about theft is about the fact that he did a bunch of murders, "stealing lives," and also kidnapping his kids. that's what he means by "greater worth than the whole of erebor."  
> -he did also steal the silmarils


	24. Boat-Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which history repeats itself in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok here we are, losgar 2.0, buckle your seatbelts
> 
> silm notes:  
> -boats again! the boat-burning at losgar was a big traumatic betrayal and in this interpretation, amrod nearly died (lightly toasted amrod)  
> -actually idk if the feanorians set sirion on fire during kinslaying #3 but it'd be real poetic if they had, so  
> -more than half of the people mae cares about died in fire

There was hardly any warning when Bilbo came running out of the mountain, crying, “Run, run! The dragon has awoken!”

The dwarves and Maedhros were instantly on high alert. “Does he mean to attack?” said Thorin.

“I think so,” said Bilbo. “He does have a weakness -- a bare patch on his chest, unprotected by scale or treasure. I do not know how long we have, but we must tell Laketown to evacuate.”

The Company rushed down the western side of the mountain and south to the Long Lake. They made good time, for it was largely downhill, but soon enough they heard the roar of Smaug and the clanging of the gates of Erebor as they opened to let him through.

(On the eastern side of the river ran a cloaked figure with a harp strapped to its back, but no one noticed.)

Maedhros’s heart clenched.  _ If he destroys Esgaroth, I may fall again into memory as I did in Mirkwood, and I may not return. I shall not be well at all if I see those boats burn, especially if Fíli or Kíli gets hurt. _ He would be lost in the horror of the ship-burning at Losgar, where they had very nearly lost Amrod.

But there was no time for that. Evacuation came first.

Smaug had just left the mountain and begun flying south when they reached the town, so the people there had no choice but to believe them. Some had apparently already been warned (how?), and the evacuation proceeded smoothly.

Aside from the Master of Laketown, who decided it was all a trick. What he thought the Company meant to gain was unclear, but he was vehement both that they had some sort of ulterior motives, which was false, and that it was their fault the dragon had woken, which was an accurate assessment of the situation. But they certainly hadn’t  _ meant _ to wake the dragon.

Maedhros was about to go find the man and deliver some sort of vaguely-threatening speech with a lot of looming, for he had found that to be very effective in times of crisis, when the Master appeared and started helping with the evacuation. Maedhros knew not what had changed his mind, but saw in his demeanor a trace of magic. Deciding it was none of his business, considering he would have done the same thing if the ominous looming failed to have the desired effect, Maedhros continued lifting and carrying things where told to.

Practically everyone was out of the city by the time Smaug arrived, but the dragon either noticed not or cared not, for he set Laketown ablaze.

Maedhros saw ships burn, thousands of years apart. Did they ever stop? Was this new or just the same fire in a different place? Where were the young ones? Who did he mean? Even at Sirion some of the little fishing boats caught fire. There were always young ones. Were they twins? He felt as if that would narrow it down. For a moment there was no dragon, only burning, and he knew he had set the fire himself.

And then he saw someone up high on the bell tower with a bow and a quiver of arrows, and his breath caught.

He had to save them. He would not -- could not -- let anyone else burn, as he did, as his family did, falling to fire one by one.

Ignoring a shout from -- someone, the voice was familiar but he was too far gone for names -- Maedhros ran once again through fire and smoke to rescue someone.  _ Please let this be one of the times I succeed, _ he prayed to whoever might be listening.  _ Please do not tell me I have no more lucky rescues left. _

There, the tower! Parts of it were stone, it burned slowly, but even had it gone up like tinder Maedhros would still have taken the stairs by threes as he did in the desperate hope of saving the valiant fool at the top.

He burst through to the uppermost level, where the bell sat, and saw a grim-faced Man with one arrow left, and a small thrush chirping at him.

The Man turned. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “It’s not safe!”

“I could ask you the same question!” said Maedhros in astonishment at the hypocrisy. “You must leave!”

“What I must do is kill the dragon. This thrush has overheard of its weakness and told me of it, and I yet have one arrow, a lucky one, to try with.”

Maedhros knew he could not stop him. There was a look of destiny in his eyes, the culmination of fate. Maedhros nodded.

Smaug swooped low, and Maedhros put a hand on the Man’s shoulder to steady him, and the thrush landed on his head.

He pulled back the bowstring, and began to speak, not seeming to notice his words, as if they came to him in this dreamlike moment from another desperate, valiant archer who lived long ago. For nothing is ever forgotten, truly, and in moments of such closeness to another time, ideas may slip across.

The words that fell from his tongue stopped Maedhros’s heart for an instant.

“O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the Lake-men in our need!”

The Man loosed the arrow.

And Smaug fell.

* * *

The Man, whose name was still unknown to Maedhros, fainted. The thrush pecked at him a bit, but he did not move, so Maedhros lifted him up and ran back down the stairs.

He came to the place where the evacuees waited, and they exclaimed in joy to see the Man safe.

“Thank goodness!” said one of the people of Laketown. “His children were worried for him. Did he bring down that dragon?”

“Yes,” said Maedhros. He was glad to have gotten the Man back to his family, especially since he had children who needed him. “Who is he?”

“His name is Bard, some sort of descendant of the last Lord of Dale,” they said.

Were reckless heroics and friendship with birds some sort of  _ requirements _ for royal archers?

"I'm certainly glad to have brought him back, but I must rejoin my companions now." He paused. "I'm sorry for the loss of your town."

They waved a hand. "Most of it will be fine once the fire's put out, and the only person who got hurt was the Master. I wouldn't worry."

Maedhros nodded and left. He found the Company gathered together, looking anxious.

When they saw him, relief washed over their faces. "We were worried for you, lad! Glad you're back safe," said Óin, grabbing Maedhros in a hug, which several others joined. It was a very good hug despite them not even coming up to his waist and thus having to hug his legs.

"I'm all right," he said. "It seems to me the mountain is safe now, so shouldn't we head up there? It seems to me you can go ahead and reclaim Erebor now that Smaug is dead."

As one, they made their way back to the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note:  
> -bard's line is fingon's prayer to manwe that led to maedhros getting rescued from sauron's boss  
> -fingon was mae's... possibly boyfriend, definitely best friend, who came to save him  
> -he was known as "the valiant" and he was king for a hot sec before being murdered by balrogs  
> -there were also birds involved in that incident bc tolkien really likes birds
> 
> -yes maglor just straight-up enchanted the master of laketown to save time
> 
> up next: did you really think we were getting out of this without dragon sickness?
> 
> please leave a comment and/or kudos!


	25. The Arkensilmaril / Bilbo Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out the origin of the mithril shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok here we go, buckle up babes
> 
> silm notes:  
> -dragons get very petty when they're dying, see glaurung going "hey idiot i made u sleep w your sister" after turin stabbed him  
> -the nauglamir was the necklace w a silmaril in it. it was in glaurung's hoard, and everybody acted very badly regarding the necklace, such as "not giving it up when someone says they are going to kill you for it, and then acting surprised when they kill you for it"  
> -when m&m stole the silmarils they got burned, morgoth also got burned after stealing them. it's more of a moral judgement thing than a theft thing but you never know  
> -there's a lot of speculation on who the mithril shirt belonged to and i think this is the funniest so of course it's what i went with

This time, the Company went in through the front gate, which stood open from Smaug’s exit. Thorin went in first, of course, followed by Fíli and Kíli, and the rest brought up the rear.

Waiting for them was a raven, who spoke to them in Westron. “Hail, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain! Hail, Company of Thorin Oakenshield! I am Rac, son of Carc.”

Thorin had been young when Erebor was lost, but he had been taught the proper way to speak to the ravens, and gave the polite response: “Hail, Rac, son of Carc. I hope your roosts have been safe and sparkling.” For all corvids love glittering objects and are wont to use them to decorate their nests.

Rac nodded. “Thank you, they have. I am glad to be the first to welcome home the King of Erebor. But I bring a warning: now that the wyrm is dead, folk think the Lonely Mountain’s treasures unprotected. Forget not that the hoard of a dragon places greed in the heart! The Lake-men are good people, I am sure, but Smaug’s dying curse (for dragons always have one) may have turned their goodwill to avarice.”

Thorin became angry, and a strange light entered his eyes that Maedhros recognized all too well. “We shall not let them take what is ours! My thanks, Rac son of Carc, for your tidings. If you and your folk could send word to our kin in the Iron Hills that Erebor is retaken and we are in need, we should be much obliged.”

Rac nodded. “It would be our pleasure. But one more word of advice, King Under the Mountain: treat not with the Master of Laketown, and instead with Bard the Dragonslayer, for the Master has always been grasping and greedy, but Bard is honorable.” He flew off.

Thorin said, “Now let us enter! None yet have come to carry off our reward, and though we must be prepared, we have time to rejoice in our home, reclaimed at last from the foul fire-drake that stole it from us, and wonder at its wealth.”

They entered, and found such a store of gold and jewels in the great hall that it dazzled the senses. The light entered all of their eyes, at that point, though they were in no condition to notice, and they rushed around to look at all the shining treasures.

It was not until Maedhros picked up a beautiful jeweled necklace that he broke through the haze.

_ This looks like the Nauglamír, _ he thought.  _ And was it, too, not part of a dragon-hoard once? Small wonder we killed for it, Oath-bound already, and of course no one would give it up, for the sickness was upon them. And Morgoth, creator of dragons, held the Silmaril for centuries; perhaps his possessions enthrall folk as well. _

_ I have spilled too much blood over jewelry. No more. _

He jolted back to reality. The gold strewn across the floor no longer held joy for him, but disgust for the dragon’s spell and his own weakness for succumbing to it.

He glanced around. Glóin, Fíli, and Kíli seemed to be in the hoard’s thrall only shallowly, and Bilbo had broken free, but the others were varying degrees of gold-sick, Thorin worst of all.

Thorin handed Bilbo a mail shirt of mithril, that was surprisingly only a little big on him. Maedhros, of course, recognized it with a laugh.

Bilbo turned. “And what’s so funny, Master Adarngail?”

“That armor you are wearing used to belong to one of my sons,” he explained, still chuckling. “They were very small, and we lived in dangerous times, so I asked my dwarven friends to make them something protective to wear. They were adorable in their little chainmail, and it was enchanted to grow with them to an extent, though they soon enough got too big. I wonder where its twin went?”

(Far to the south in Gondor, eleven-year-old Denethor, the son of the Steward, adjusted his mithril shirt in advance of sword training that day. He knew that it had been passed down ever since the king had given it to Steward Húrin I for his children, but no one had ever given him a satisfactory explanation as to why anyone had made such a small piece of armor.)

Bilbo smiled. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence! But I’d expect elven babies would outgrow this in time, though I think it’ll keep fitting me till I grow too round.”

With the reference to children, Glóin snapped out of the dragon sickness, probably remembering his son Gimli who was back in the Ered Luin.

Thorin was distracted for a few seconds, but when the moment passed he fell back under the spell. “We must find the Arkenstone,” he said. “Everyone, start looking.”

Maedhros did not, in fact, start looking, but went to Thorin to ease his obsession as best he could. He would not see another death over riches, especially not the Silmaril.

* * *

Bilbo didn’t like how Thorin was getting. He almost missed the dwarf’s long-windedness, and would have greatly preferred it to this terse and irritable way he now spoke. But perhaps having the Arkenstone would bring him back to himself.

(Bilbo knew it was a vain hope, that having the Arkenstone would likely make it worse, but what else was he to do?)

And then he saw a flash of dark blue at the end of a corridor. Curious, he followed, with his invisibility ring on so as not to be seen.

It turned out to be ‘Adarngail,’ the one who had sung the dragon to sleep. He must have snuck back into the mountain, or never left it. And wasn’t he in search of the Arkenstone, too?

The elf went into room after room, hallway after hallway, searching, but not finding anything for many hours. Bilbo, getting tired, followed him up towards the nests of the ravens. And there, on the floor of the raven-room, lay a gem that could only be the legendary Arkenstone, for its light was like nothing Bilbo had ever seen before, and it almost seemed to call to him.

‘Adarngail’ looked a few seconds away from tears. He murmured something to it in an unfamiliar elven-sounding language, and paused in contemplation before scooping it up with a gloved hand and placing it in his pocket.

Now, Bilbo remembered that the elf had said he wasn’t going to steal it. But that looked awfully like stealing to him. And as the Company’s burglar, it was probably his responsibility to steal it back.

So when the elf started going up the stairs of one of Erebor’s towers, Bilbo crept after him, awaiting an opportunity to pick his pocket.

It was after going out onto a high battlement that the elf paused, seemingly wondering what to do next. Bilbo moved in close and reached out his hand to the pocket where ‘Adarngail’ had stashed the Arkenstone, but as he did so the elf spoke.

“Careful, little hobbit. It tends to burn thieves.”

Bilbo took off the ring in frustration. “How did you know I was here? I was invisible, and quiet as can be.”

“Magic rings are familiar to me, as are artifacts that hide their wearer. There is something about that ring that makes me rather uneasy, and I felt my stomach twist.”

“But how did you know it wasn’t one of the dwarves, or that elf?” Bilbo grumbled. It was quite unfair that elves knew things.

“You are the stealthiest. It made sense.”

Bilbo couldn’t help a bit of pride at that, but he had questions. “You said you were not going to steal it, and yet you have taken the Arkenstone. I need to get it back for Thorin. Why did you steal and hide it?”

“Well, it was my father’s once. And it was stolen a few times, and then it was my brother’s, though I only knew it was the right jewel when I finally saw it. Wars have been fought over it, and I do not wish another, so since it cannot be destroyed even by the very fires of the earth, I shall have to hide it,” said ‘Adarngail.’

That did not explain much. “What did you mean when you said it burns thieves?”

The elf’s expression saddened. “Just as I said. My brother stole it back, and the jewel decided he had no right to it. It burned him, and he leapt into a fiery chasm with it clutched to his chest, for he had been judged and found wanting. I was burned as well, for I too had stolen it. Hence the gloves.”

And at that moment, they both heard light footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Bilbo?” called a voice. “Are you up there? We might have a problem.”

He came into the room and the two Adarngails stared at each other in shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're almost there! i'm planning on publishing ch26 on the 5th, consistent w my update schedule, and then the last 2 chapters at once during Tolkien Gen Week (which y'all should participate in!)
> 
> i'm going to be publishing hopefully two shorter completed stories for gen week (both kidnap dads of course) and the first chapter of Jailbird :) jailbird updates are gonna be a little slower bc it's still very much in progress (oof)
> 
> until then, please leave a comment and/or kudos, it really makes my day to know you're enjoying this story <3


	26. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two people, both calling themselves Adarngail Carorion, meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's finally here! reunion time!!!
> 
> silm notes:  
> -if mae had lost more of his memories he might actually have forgotten what dwarves were, he didn't meet them until sometime after losing his hand  
> -elrond's family tree is already a mess because Literally Everyone is on it  
> -great journey: the journey of the elves to the undying lands, before even feanor was born. divided elves into groups. the feanorians and thranduil are from different groups  
> -thranduil's group of elves really doesn't like maedhros's group of elves, specifically maedhros, because of the murder thing  
> -i'm choosing to interpret the Oath as "if you knowingly keep the rocks from their rightful owner(s) we kill you"
> 
> also we're starting the chapter off with some memes i made

Maedhros froze at the sight of Maglor, the last of his brothers still living.

Maglor spoke first, tremblingly. “Maedhros? Is it really you? I thought -- with the lava, and the stone, and -- you  _ left _ me. And the children, and I left them too--”

“I am so sorry. You three had already been abandoned far too many times,” said Maedhros, rushing forward to take his brother’s hands. “I do not know how I lived, or I would tell you. But the dwarves of Erebor dug me from the stone nearly two centuries ago. I thought you dead, or gone back to Eönwe and taken to trial, or -- it matters not, not when you are here!”

Maglor still felt as if he was half in a dream, but said, “I believe this is yours then,” and pulled the Silmaril from his pocket. “I had intended to hide it where it could not again be found to cause conflict. I thought it was what you would want.”

Maedhros, tears rolling down his face, took it bare-handed without caution, and to Maglor’s surprise but not his own, it did not burn. “It is not mine anymore,” he said. “I gave it as a guest-gift to the late King Thrór, and it now belongs to Thorin, who is searching for it, but he has fallen to dragon sickness.”

“But how came you here? You came from the Ered Luin, I know, and you passed through Imladris and likely Mirkwood. How did you avoid imprisonment? You are recognizable, to say the least!”

“Give me some credit, I am smart enough not to go into elven settlements without caution. But I had thought Elrond was dead, and I knew Elros’s grave was in Imladris, so of course I went there, what else could I do? He asked me to look for you.”

That didn't sound right. Elrond was happier without Maglor there, he knew that to be true. He would only bring misfortune and unpleasant memories down on the person he cared for most. Elrond had been content thus far to pretend he didn’t exist and not come looking, so Maglor had tried very hard not to shatter that illusion and thus remind his former hostage of his trauma and force his hand. Elrond deserved a life free of pain, and while Maglor had hurt him too much to ever grant it, he could ease his not-son's suffering by staying well away.

Maedhros was still talking. “He told me to tell you he loves you and misses you, and he wants you to come home. You know, Gandalf -- Olórin, as you might remember him -- knew he was alive the whole time and did not tell me? Quite rude of him, I must say.”

Maglor failed to comprehend this. Not the fact that Olórin had once again withheld vital information, that was normal, but... had he really misunderstood the situation so much, and for so many years? Elrond could not want him back, that would be illogical, but neither was he the sort to lie. Maybe, just maybe, this was real.

“That’s Olórin for you,” he said, still processing the previous statement. “You really shouldn’t be surprised by it anymore. What about Thranduil?”

Maedhros was still a bit bitter about the Mirkwood incident. “Elrond told him we were coming, and he threw us in jail for a bit of drama to liven up his day, knowing that we would escape. I also  _ may _ have lost my memories for a little while.”

“What the  _ hell, _ Maedhros? Did you forget what dwarves were?”

“No, and I find the whole thing to be rather amusing in hindsight. I was very confused as to why my strange companions kept assuring me my son was safe, as I did not recall having children. A few days later I woke up, having remembered up to the breaking of Thangorodrim, and kept refusing to escape what I thought was just imprisonment even when Bilbo told me it was necessary.”

"It sounds like you. Stubbornness, the old family curse."

"I think we've got a few more curses than than  _ that _ by now."

Maglor smiled and enveloped Maedhros in a hug six thousand years in coming.

Neither of them wanted to let go, but after a while Bilbo (whom they had forgotten was even there) coughed.

The brothers disentangled. Maedhros said, "My apologies, Master Baggins, for my rudeness, and for deceiving you. My name is Maedhros, and this is my long-lost little brother, Maglor." He turned to Maglor. "I've been going by the name of Adarngail Carorion."

"So was I!" said Maglor. "There have been many strange coincidences today, but tell me, how did you choose it? You stole my idea."

"I think you'll find I chose it first -- stop hitting me! Well, what else was I supposed to name myself? Elrond and Elros are what I'm most proud of, and I know you feel the same."

Bilbo inserted himself back into the conversation. "So you're Master Elrond's father, then?"

"Two of them, anyway," said Maglor. "We kidnapped him, and his brother (it's a long story) and raised them as our own. I can't believe he really doesn't hold a grudge. He ended up with rather a lot of fathers, one of which is up in the sky as the Evening Star. That's his birth father, in fact."

Bilbo shuddered. "The family tree must be a nightmare."

Maedhros paused. “ _ That’s _ your problem with this? Not the fact that Elrond’s father is a star, or that we kidnapped him?”

“We hobbits take genealogy very seriously,” said Bilbo with a sniff. “Anyway, how are we to help Thorin?”

“Depends. Did he swear any oaths?” asked Maglor.

Maedhros responded, “No, and if he did, it was not in front of me. I think I have gotten the dwarves of the Ered Luin out of any such habit. But he is acting rather like, well...”

Maglor winced.

Maedhros continued, “Actually, that is why I came looking for Bilbo. Thorin has decided to antagonize the Lake-men and King Thranduil. I tried to tell him that  _ traditionally _ one does give a reward to a dragonslayer, which may or may not be true, I wouldn’t know, but the rest of the Company backed me up. He decided that I must be secretly on the side of the Mirkwood elves, because I am an elf. Unsurprisingly, he did not listen when I tried to explain the Great Journey or Thranduil’s grudge against my kind in general and me in particular.”

“Traditionally the reward is a great deal of treasure and the princess’s hand in marriage, but Bard is already married and Fíli isn’t interested,” said Bilbo. “And we certainly can’t give him the Arkenstone; I’m pretty sure that will only make it worse.”

“It will,” said Maglor. “I can hold onto it for now, as he is unaware of my presence and cannot ask me for it, though to keep it from its rightful owner tears at me.”

“The Oath burned away when we touched them, it is fulfilled and gone,” said Maedhros, handing the Silmaril to Maglor.

“You two need to stop being so cryptic and referencing things I don’t know about,” said Bilbo. “It is terribly rude to leave me out of this conversation.”

“I am terribly sorry. It is only that we have not seen each other in thousands of years, and the Arkenstone is deeply entwined with that,” said Maglor.

Bilbo appeared to find this answer satisfactory. “That’s fine then. So we shall hide the Arkenstone from Thorin, and try to snap him out of this dragon sickness, and do our best to stop a war?”

“Yes,” said Maedhros, steel in his voice. “No more wars shall be fought for this thing, I declare it so. I do not swear, but lay this down as fact.”

Bilbo, who didn’t hold with such dramatic nonsense, was about to say something, when the door to the battlement opened, and Thorin Oakenshield stepped through in a fury.

“Well, fuck,” said Bilbo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i take every opportunity for maglor to refer to e&e as "former hostages" because that is objectively the funniest familial relationship out of context, like not just hostage but _former_ hostage
> 
> imagine you meet a guy and you chat and then he introduces you to someone he obviously cares a lot about like "and this is my former hostage,," like i would lose it
> 
> anyway please leave a comment and/or kudos!!! :)


	27. Kings and Rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Silmaril actually _solves_ problems for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a double update, i'm adding the last 2 chapters right after each other
> 
> happy tolkien gen week! this is my celebration for day 2: platonic relationships :)
> 
> silm notes:  
> -silmarils are very judgy especially if you haven't been given them freely (unless you're beren and luthien, in which case they say bisexual rights and don't burn you)  
> -i am begging all these stupid leaders in tolkien PLEASE stop putting your heirs in danger that is so dumb  
> -maedhros might actually have been the one to name give sauron the name sauron (or more accurately thauron)

Thorin raged.

“You have been plotting against me! With this other elf! He’s been here all along, and no one ever told me! Traitors, all of you!”

Maedhros had nothing to say to that, considering that they had in fact been plotting against Thorin.

Maglor, however, did. “King Thorin, you disgrace the title of King Under the Mountain with your behavior. I have been told that you were once noble and wise, but looking upon you I cannot believe it. Is this how you would begin your reign, with fruitless war over an accursed dragon hoard?”

Thorin growled at him. “I know you not, elf, and you have no right to judge me. Where is the Arkenstone?”

Maedhros privately thought that, while they would be hypocritical to judge him too harshly, they were in the position of having done this all before from Thorin’s side of the debate, and were thus uniquely qualified to give advice.

But Bilbo spoke before he could. “I do not have it, Thorin Oakenshield,” he said. “And if I did, I would give it to those folk camped outside the gates so they might barter with you. You have grown grasping and obsessed, and I want no part of it.”

“Then traitor you are, and shall be treated accordingly.” Thorin rushed at Bilbo and lifted him up. “I shall throw you from these walls, faithless one. Would that you had never joined this Quest!”

The four people on the battlement absently realized that they had an audience, as they were on a wall facing towards the south, where the armies of Men and elves were camped. But they took little note of it.

Maedhros ran for Bilbo, plucking him from Thorin’s grasp and setting him down safely nearer the stairs, and prepared to knock some sense into the King Under the Mountain, but Maglor got to Thorin first.

“If you want the Arkenstone, King Thorin, I shall not give it to you. Its rightful owner you may be, but it has a way of rejecting claimants it finds unfit,” said Maglor, grabbing Thorin’s arm and opening his fist. “But if you desire it above all else, above honor and duty and what is right, then wrest it from my hand.”

And Maglor pressed the Silmaril to Thorin’s open palm

where

it

_ burned. _

* * *

Thorin felt as if he were on fire.

The Arkenstone was at last in his hand, but with it came pain unbearable, with it came burning and burning and  _ burning _ like nothing he had ever known, not even the dragon--

Thorin suddenly understood the history of the Arkenstone, which was not a singular jewel but one of three, and the cause of uncounted deaths along with its siblings.

He saw a theft done in darkness impenetrable, a battle that stained red the shores of what was meant to be a deathless land, and betrayal after betrayal, murder after murder, death after death.  _ (That was why the elf cried when Laketown went up.) _ And before and after and surrounding and through it all was fire. The Arkenstone had been stolen by the flame-haired one, and scorched him, and been taken with him to a fiery grave, where it had lain in the earth until Thorin’s first birthday.

The history of the jewel was a history of burning.

And so too did it burn Thorin, with a white-hot cleansing flame that went into the deepest recesses of him and painfully scoured away every trace of the dragon sickness.

Thorin awoke.

* * *

“What happened there?” said Maedhros, looking at the unconscious Thorin.

“It burned him because he tried to kill Bilbo over it. I’ll admit I was taking a chance, I didn’t know if it would work without him actually murdering anyone, but I’m glad it did,” said Maglor, still keeping the stone in Thorin’s hand. “Am I not named ‘gold-cleaver?’ The spell of the gold is neatly broken, burned away.”

“I would not say anything about this situation is neat,” said Bilbo.

Maedhros said, “Comparatively, this is quite tidy, I’d say. I still have the burn scar. Well, scars, but some of them are from the lava, so they don’t count.”

It was at that moment that Thorin stirred and opened his eyes. “Bilbo?” he slurred. “Is that you?”

Bilbo rushed over. “Yes, it’s me! How are you feeling?”

Thorin’s gaze traveled to the Silmaril in his hand. “It doesn’t burn,” he said, incredulous. “It stopped burning.” He seemed to realize what had just happened. “Bilbo, I’m so sorry, I--”

“Hush,” said Bilbo. “As long as you’re going to be more reasonable in the future, all is forgiven.”

“Glad we got that cleared up,” said Maedhros. He was about to suggest trying the same method of handing the gem to the other gold-sick dwarves when he saw something to the northwest. “Orcs!” he cried. “And wargs, too! A great number of them, coming to the mountain!” They must have gathered to avenge the Great Goblin. Perhaps that drama-filled plan had not been his best.

Thorin looked out and could not see them, but at this point probably knew better than to doubt Maedhros’s eyesight. He went to the edge of the battlement and addressed the people below.

“Hail, elves of the Wood and Men of Laketown! The dragon’s spell on me has broken, and I beg forgiveness for my discourtesy. But a great army of goblins and wargs approaches, and we must fight them together. I shall open the mountain’s gate to you, that civilians may stay here safe and we may present a united front! I will be glad to treat with Bard and King Thranduil once we all survive!”

At this pronouncement, Bard had a hurried conversation with the people near him, then called up, “We accept, King Thorin. Let us enter, and fight together against this common foe!”

The wargs and goblins were far off yet, but Dáin Ironfoot’s army was soon at the gate, and Gandalf had come, too, from wherever he had gone after leaving the Company at Mirkwood. They were all brought in to ready Erebor for siege and prepare the elves, Men, and dwarves for battle.

And soon enough, the fight began.

* * *

The battle was... a battle. Nothing particularly interesting about it, except when the Eagles and Beorn joined the fray against the goblins.

Fíli and Kíli nearly had to be locked in a room to keep them from fighting, but Thorin had finally been convinced that bringing his heirs into danger was a bad idea, so they reluctantly agreed to stay behind.

Erebor was a good place to be besieged, though it had little in the way of food production, especially when it had only just been reclaimed. But the people of Esgaroth, Mirkwood, and the Iron Hills had brought food, and they were ready for a long wait.

As it turned out, the battle only lasted about a day, and probably would not have been a siege had they not withdrawn into the mountain in expectation of one.

Thorin was injured. He would recover, but Fíli had to take up the responsibility of ruling Erebor until he was up and about. Luckily, there was an abundance of seasoned leaders around who were perfectly willing to help him, and the treasure situation was soon sorted out to everyone's satisfaction.

Bilbo, too, had been hurt. His wounds were less severe, but he had been invisible when they were inflicted and thus had not received care until late. When the hobbit awoke in the infirmary, Maedhros finally remembered that he'd had a flash of intuition regarding the invisibility ring.

"Bilbo, would you mind showing me that ring of yours? There's something familiar about it, and I tend to trust my instincts regarding magical jewelry."

Bilbo shrugged. "Here you are, then," he said, handing it over.

When Maedhros's fingers brushed the ring, he knew it immediately for what it was. "Þauron made this," he breathed. "It carries great malice."

"Oh my! And here I've been, using it at the drop of a hat!" cried Bilbo.

Maedhros waved a hand. "You couldn't have known, and it seems to have had no ill effect on you as of yet. With your permission, I have an idea."

"Go right ahead. I shouldn't like to have such an evil thing, no matter how useful it is."

Maedhros walked a few beds over, to where Thorin Oakenshield rested with the Arkenstone by his bedside.

_ Hallowed by Varda to endure no evil touch, _ he thought.

Maedhros carefully placed the One Ring atop the Silmaril, which heated to the temperature of a forge, melting the metal. A distant scream came from the direction of Mordor as the ring was destroyed.

"Well, that's sorted!" said Maedhros, pleased to have gotten rid of something his old enemy had cared about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get wrecked thauron
> 
> don't forget to read the epilogue too!


	28. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a family is reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a double update, make sure to read ch27 as well!
> 
> ok i can't believe i'm actually publishing this, my first completed long chapterfic! thank you all so much for sticking with me and giving kudos and comments, it really does encourage me to keep writing
> 
> no silm notes this time, i'm pretty sure all of you could recite the silmarillion from memory at this point even if you're just here for the hobbit lol

"Are you sure you won't stay?" said Thorin.

Maedhros smiled. "No, you seem to have a good hold on everything here. Besides, I have a granddaughter I've yet to meet, and my brother needs to be reunited with our son."

"I know, I know, but we'll miss you."

"Come visit, then! You'll all be making the trip to see Bilbo, and Rivendell is right on the way. A perfect meet-up place, in fact."

"You may be right. Farewell, Maedhros," said Thorin. "And thank you."

"Farewell, King Thorin. I hope to see you soon."

The two former kings-in-exile bowed to each other, and Maedhros and Maglor left Erebor.

* * *

Rivendell was awash in the glow of sunset as Maglor, Maedhros, and Bilbo crested the hill, the sweet smell of wisteria wafting up from the countless arbors of the valley below.

"But are you sure?" asked Maglor.

"Yes, I'm sure Elrond really does want to see you," said Maedhros once again. He had been repeating variations of this reassurance more and more often as they neared Imladris, in response to Maglor's heightening anxiety.

“He does,” said Bilbo. “He was over the moon when your brother showed up; I’m surprised we ever managed to have a productive conversation when this one,” he patted Maedhros’s leg, “was doting on Master Elrond the entire time we were here.”

The very minute they crossed the border of the valley, a joyful shout came up from the main house. Not a moment later, four figures came running out the gate towards where the brothers were walking down the hillside. Elrond reached them first, with Arwen, Elrohir, and Elladan close behind.

The whole family collided into a great embrace and crashed to the ground, still hugging and crying tears of joy. It was better than anything Maedhros had ever felt, and Maglor had somehow lost every word he knew but  _ "I love you," _ and after so long sundered, a piece of their family was at last reconstructed.

"You're home! You're both finally  _ home! _ " cried Elrond.

And around them came the song:

_ O! Where are you going, _

_ So late in returning? _

_ The sunset is glowing, _

_ The bonfires are burning! _

_ Hear singing and humming _

_ When all things are righted, _

_ Here’s to your homecoming, _

_ A family united. _

_ O! tra-la-la-lally, come into the valley, _

_ ha! ha! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap!
> 
> again, thank you so so much for reading!!!!
> 
> please leave your final comment and/or kudos <3
> 
> i will be publishing more fics for gen week and starting my new chapterfic Jailbird at the end of the week :) please read them! i just published the fic Realism, which is about Maglor and Elrond
> 
> and check out my tumblr @jaz-the-bard !!!

**Author's Note:**

> In light of recent events: I do not consent to my own original ideas that appear in my fics being used without permission or without credit. If you are able to pick up ideas from my fic then you are certainly able to ask me for permission, and if you are going to publish, credit is REQUIRED.
> 
> This includes names such as elenyafinwë, aþelairë, and almatáru, as well as a number of other details and ideas that appear in my works.
> 
> If you are going to use my ideas for fic that excludes LGBTQ+ characters, for reasons religious or other, I do not give you permission to use them, even with credit.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [in the woods somewhere](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698954) by [CommanderMollyOBrien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderMollyOBrien/pseuds/CommanderMollyOBrien)




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